Bucket List
by chezchuckles
Summary: co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles. inspired by the Richard Castle Bucket List on richardcastle dot net; set after 47 Seconds/The Limey. Chapter 9b is Bucket List in Paris, posted separately, and to be read before Chapter 10.
1. Chapter 1

**Bucket List**

co-authored by** Sandiane Carter **and** chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>inspired by the Richard Castle Bucket List on richardcastle(dot)net<p>

set after 47 Seconds with concepts taken from the 'next time on Castle' previews for The Limey

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><p><em>3. Wreck a Ferrari<em>

* * *

><p>Beckett is severely annoyed by his absence.<p>

And it festers.

He arrives to crime scenes in his Ferrari with a blonde, and she has to watch him laugh and act the playboy - and she doesn't even understand why.

Why he's just stopped waiting. She thought they had a deal.

She taps her pen against the edge of the desk, leaning back in her chair, realizing she's been staring at _his_ chair for a good five minutes, working herself up again, righteous indignation and not a little bit of fear.

Because maybe today is the day he doesn't come back.

She expected to have a few more months at least, expected not to get into dramatics with him until the summer heat sizzled both their brains. It happens every year - but maybe she should blame global climate change? It's been uncharacteristically warm these last few weeks. Record highs. Spring fever.

She doesn't want him to have spring fever with someone _else_ though.

Her phone rings and she flips it face up, sees Castle's picture, that raised eyebrow, and her heart trembles like a weak bird. Damn.

"Castle? Where the hell have you been all morning?"

There's a strange sound on the other end, a clicking that mounts into a higher-pitched whine and she jerks the phone away, glances at the caller ID as if it could be wrong.

"Castle?"

A gravelly sound of a clearing throat. "Need - uh - to call in sick."

Ice slides its fingers through her ribs, seeking her heart. "Call in sick?"

"I've - I'm at New York Presbyterian-"

"You're what?" she says, blinking hard, half-standing in the busy bullpen. Esposito glances back at her.

"-Medical Center. I - I can't talk long. Can you call Alexis-"

"I'm on my way, okay? I'm on my way." She's already grabbing her keys, wallet, jacket - shoving her right foot back into her shoe where she'd slid it off to ease the ache in her arch. "Just - just - I'm coming."

"I'm okay. I had - well, I wrecked the Ferrari, Beckett."

"You don't sound okay," she shoots back, waving off Esposito and heading for the elevator.

"Just - ah - bruised. Seatbelt. Airbag."

"How did this - what happened?"

"They won't let me - I have to go. I can't talk. My daughter-"

The phone is disconnected even as she steps on the elevator.

* * *

><p>She's certainly not calling Alexis Castle until she knows exactly what <em>bruised<em> means. And what the hell happened.

But the cab she's hailed gets stuck in traffic - it's the middle of the day, of course, which means there are all sorts of people going everywhere, getting in her way - and that leaves entirely too much time for her imagination to paint a bunch of scenarios that she could very well do without.

By the time they get to the hospital, she's thoroughly annoyed with herself (_no_, Kate, Castle is certainly not dying of a clot in his brain) and maybe she takes it out a little on the blonde-haired nurse at the desk.

"What do you mean, you don't know where he is? Check again. Richard Castle. He must have been brought here-" she checks her watch, "-about twenty-five minutes ago. A car accident."

The young woman - she looks not a day over eighteen - presses trembling lips together as she turns once again to her computer. "I'm sorry, I don't..."

"Car accident? With a Ferrari?" a voice interrupts.

Kate holds back a sigh of relief as she looks at the middle-aged woman who's now sliding behind the desk. A nurse, probably, with a short, no-nonsense haircut, sharp brown eyes and a pointed nose. The woman lays a protective hand on the blonde girl's shoulder, and Beckett feels a twinge of shame.

"Yeah," she says, her voice more conciliatory. "Can you tell me where he is?"

"Are you family?"

Oh. Well. Kate gets out her badge, holds it up. "He's my partner."

The woman's eyebrows raise. "I understand now why he made such a big deal of wrecking that Ferrari."

The detective feels her mouth curving up in spite of herself. If Castle was in a good enough shape to complain about the car, he must really be doing okay.

"I'll show you to his room," the older nurse says briskly, picking up a file before she starts walking away. "They've taken him up for an MRI," she adds, "but I think it was just a precaution. The doctor seemed to think he'd be fine."

Kate sinks her teeth into her lip at the word _MRI_, but she doesn't say anything. She follows the woman down a corridor, stops at a door with the number 3142.

"There you are," the nurse says. "His...friend is in the next room."

"His friend," Beckett echoes, proud that her voice is so flat. No curiosity, no anger. Neutral.

Still, her companion gives her a long look. "The woman who was in the car with him. Blonde hair, pink dress. Got away with a sprained wrist, so they were both lucky, if you ask me."

She strides away at that, obviously having more important things to do than chatting up someone who's not even a patient's family, and Kate remains alone, hesitating at the threshold of his hospital room, trying to contain the quiet rage, the betrayal seething inside her.

_His friend._

* * *

><p>She stands in front of the window with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting on him to be brought back from the MRI. She's moved from hurting betrayal to thoroughly pissed, the silence of the hospital room and the bleak day outside combining to exacerbate whatever it is between them lately.<p>

She just doesn't get it. They had a deal. He understood.

_This isn't how you go about knocking down a wall, Castle._

When the door clicks open behind her, she takes a moment to breathe, to focus, and spins around, feeling razor sharp, like a piece of broken glass, ready to cut.

But it shatters to nothing at the sight of him being wheeled back into the room, the left side of his face raw and swollen, skinned up, and an arm around his ribs.

"Castle," she breathes, and his head tilts to see her with his good eye.

"Why - what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? Where else would I be?" She moves aside to let the male nurse ease Castle back into the bed, his knees sticking out from under the hospital gown, his calves as if carved from pale marble. His bare toes looking painfully vulnerable.

She spots another hematoma blooming at his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of the gown.

"I'm fine," he says. "Just bruised."

"You said. I didn't believe you," she mutters, steps in beside his bed as the nurse leaves.

"Just - you know - airbag and seatbelt-related injuries. That big bag of air feels more like a brick wall."

"Your . . .passenger is a few doors down," Kate mentions, cutting her eyes to his, looking for a tell.

He doesn't smile that charming, playboy smile. At least there's that. But he does look pale. Paler than when she first saw him.

"She's - okay?"

"Sprained wrist," Kate offers, hating that she's the one with the information, hating that she's talking about the woman at all. Another deep-fried Twinkie. _Honestly_, _Castle_, can't he-

He tilts his head back on the bed and closes his eyes, and her frustration - once again - disappears. It's easier to look at him when his eyes aren't open, easier to look and get her fill and _want-_

Almost against her will, her hand comes up and her fingers feather away the hair flopped over his forehead.

Those now-dim blue eyes startle open; his fingers snatch her wrist and he winces at his own movement.

She stands, stunned, before him, not sure why she did that at all, not sure if she can take this.

"Why - why did you come?"

"You sounded - bad," she answers. Why wouldn't she? Why the sudden doubt?

"Did you call Alexis?" His brow wrinkles, but he doesn't let go of her hand; he stares at it, as if trying to, wanting to let go, but unable.

"I thought I should see you first. Assess the situation before I worried her needlessly by telling her."

"Ah. Yeah. That's your m.o. I've noticed."

She curls her hand into a fist, her chest tightening like a claw around her heart. "What?"

He winces and closes his eyes again. "Ignore me. They gave me something for the pain. I'm - I'm talking too much."

What's her m.o. - what's - what does he mean?

A half-smile slides up his face. "I wrecked my Ferrari."

"And you're happy about that?"

"It wasn't my fault," he whines, cracking open one eye to peg her with one of his usual looks, petulant and sexy, and her chest eases. "Driver hit me first."

"So you hit back?" she whispers, feels that urge to touch him again, let her fingers slide over his forehead. But he's trapped her hand under his, heavy and solid, her palm against the bedsheets.

"Knockout, out cold," he murmurs, not making sense, eyes closed again. "Oh. But that's one off my list."

"Your list?" she says softly, thinking she can escape when he falls asleep. Go call his daughter and break the news.

"Bucket list." His eyes flash open, he jerks at the sudden movement, hisses and grips her hand tighter. "Wreck a Ferrari is on my bucket list."

"Well, good thing it wasn't the last thing to do on your list," she mutters. "And when did you make a bucket list?"

"Ooh, and here I thought you were a true fan. It's on my website, Detective. Fifty things. I've marked some off. Like buying property on the moon-"

She snorts and his eye opens, the good one, and she can't help but study the pattern of skinned cheek, bruised face that accompanies it.

"Now I can mark off another one."

With the Twinkie at his side. Damn, the anger is back, bitter and acrid. She swallows and tries to put that down. Away. No time, not the place.

"Wanna see?"

_No._

"Here, gimme your phone. They took mine. I can bring it up-" His hand releases hers on the bed but fumbles in her jacket pocket, startling and intimate, his fingers questing for her iphone, brushing against her stomach, her hip through layer of material.

She swallows hard as he fishes it out, then he grins in triumph as he enters her passcode with ease (how does he _know_ these things? she just changed it).

And then he shows her his bucket list.

* * *

><p>"'s good, right?" he slurs, his head rolling towards her. He winces and she watches him raise his hand, work his fingers into his neck muscles. "Made a good list."<p>

She glances back to the pdf he's put online, scans through the outrageous, the sweet, the silly list of things he wants to do before he dies.

"I don't see Twinkies on here," she mutters. Eyes Wide Shut party? She hopes he doesn't own a Venetian mask.

"Naw she's not on the list, but you are," he sighs, just as her eyes reach number fifty - _Get married and make it last._

Her heart pounds so hard that the phone jumps in her suddenly trembling hands. "I - I am?"

"Hmm? Yow, my neck is kil-ling me."

Drugged. On pain pills. _Keep it in mind, Beckett._

Still.

"You gotta live long enough to make some of these happen, Castle," she mutters, rubbing at her forehead with her thumb. "Gotta be more careful. Now that you've crossed off wrecking the Ferrari, how about we do things that are a little more life-friendly?"

"We?"

Oh. Entirely too quick, too sharp for a drugged-up Castle. Too honest as well.

"Uh."

"You gonna help me go through my list?" He sounds stunned. Stunned silly. And he's looking at her in a way he hasn't all week, not since he started parading girls around in front of her like elephants. Slim, blonde, deep-fried elephants.

"Who's your partner here, Castle?" _Not the Twinkie_.

"Ah, you, you, you. Always."

Her heart flips, her eyes startle to his. He's looking at her with what would be intensity if he wasn't so drugged up, if there wasn't such a haze.

To keep them on an even keel, she flicks her eyes back to the list, breaking that connection, needing a chance to breathe. She latches onto the first thing she sees.

"Oh no way," she exclaims. "I call bullshit."

He laughs, the sound escaping him like a bird startled from the underbrush. "What?"

"Bullshit. There is no way you've been to every Ikea."

"I have too."

"Not possible. There are 17 in Sweden-"

"Went on a European tour after my fifth book went bestseller."

She's already googling it; it can't be true. "Castle. Wikipedia says there are Ikeas in Japan. You've never been to Japan."

"How do you know? And maybe I just meant every Ikea in North America."

She quickly scans the list. "That's 38 in the US and 11 in Canada. None in Mexico. You're telling me you've been to 49 Ikeas?"

"Maybe I just mean every Ikea in the US."

Kate stays silent, eyebrow lifted, until he opens his eye and looks at her.

"Okay, _fine._ It was the first thing I crossed off on my list and I cheated. I only went to all the Ikeas in New York. But I make a point to visit every Ikea in the cities I do book tours in."

She sighs, lips twitching. "So you're telling me it's okay if we cheat a little? Cause. . .outer space? - that ain't gonna happen."

He grins at her, winces as his mouth curls and stretches the raw place at his cheek. "Ow. I hurt, Beckett. Don't make me laugh." He lays his hand back over hers at his side, heavy, like a warning; she realizes suddenly that she's been stroking his hip with her finger this whole time.

"Un-huh," she murmurs, trying to gather herself back together. "Castle. I-"

He watches her, his drifting consciousness made evident by the way he keeps blinking rapidly, the way his hand squeezes loosely around hers as if trying to keep anchored to the here and now.

Drifting. Fading to black.

She knows how that feels.

Powerless.

But this - his list? - she can use this. She can win him back, win him over, have him at her side with this. Partners.

_Get married and make it last._

"Third time's the charm, Castle."

* * *

><p>It takes pretty much all afternoon for the drugs to clear out of his system, but by the time the doctor comes back with the results of his MRI, Castle is lucid enough to thank the guy warmly and ask to be discharged.<p>

His mother presses her lips in disapprobation, but the man said there was very little risk, and Rick has no intention of spending the night in this tiny, uncomfortable bed.

Apparently, Beckett doesn't want him to stay either.

She keeps texting him and offering him a ride, even though he's said before that he could very well take a cab; in fact, she's so insistent that he's starting to get vaguely suspicious.

Oh, and then there's the fact that he showed her the list and she said they could do it together.

Ah. Yeah.

He's not too sure what to make of that.

Not absolutely certain his drugged mind didn't make it all up, if he's honest.

In a moment of sheer madness, he texts her back that yes, he'll take her up on that offer. She can drive him back. And then he'll know, right? He'll see if he hallucinated or not. After all, she did rush to the hospital when he called her, did look worried when he got back to the room-

Ok, he's not doing this. He's gone down that path before.

Just.

Don't get your hopes up, Castle.

His mother is hovering - she _never _hovers - and he sends her home with Alexis, arguing that he only needs to sign some papers before Kate picks him up, and so they might as well head back to the loft and start planning dinner for everyone.

The look in Martha's eyes when he says _everyone_ (meaning Kate, too, and she knows it, and he knows she knows it) doesn't bode well, but he decides to ignore it.

For some reason - maybe it's the lingering effects of the car crash, maybe it's the last of the drugs - he's much calmer, cooler-headed now than he's been at any time this past week.

He's willing to admit that he can't go from a blind faith in Kate to a complete lack of trust. Willing to admit that maybe she should get a chance to explain before he makes his ruling and sentences them to death.

Maybe his first reaction is right - maybe she doesn't feel the same way.

But even so, he should hear it from her.

He deserves that, at least.

He's signing the last of the discharge papers when Kate shows up at his door, a little breathless, like she ran here. He looks at her, wishing, not for the first time, that she were transparent.

"Hey," she says, leaning back against the wall to let the nurse out.

"Hey." Ah, shit, he forgot to ask- "Wait," he says to the woman (was her name Jodie?), sitting up and thrusting a leg out of bed. "Wait, please-"

The nurse turns back just as Kate catches her, and throws them both a weary look. "What?"

"The, ah, the woman who came in with me." He won't look at Beckett. He's sorry that she has to hear it - he should have remembered before - but he still needs to ask. "Will she be alright?"

The nurse - Jodie, he's fairly certain her name is Jodie - looks at him blankly.

"Cyndi. Cartwright," he says regretfully. "Blonde, pink dress-"

"Oh. Yeah. She left a couple hours ago," Jodie says. "Nothing wrong with her but her wrist. At least physically speaking. She was with you?"

Interesting question. He darts a tentative glance in Kate's direction, finds her watching him, her face unreadable.

"I guess not - not really," he admits softly.

The nurse is already losing interest, turning away, and when he shifts to get off the bed, making sure his legs can support his weight, Kate is there, her fingers light and cool against his elbow.

Hmm. Okay.

"I gotta change," he says, pointing at the clothes his daughter brought for him, left in a neat pile on the nearest chair.

Kate retrieves them for him, then takes a step away and puts her back to him.

"Tell me if you need help," she says, but he can tell by the cracks in her voice that she'd rather he didn't.

A smile flirts with his lips, a genuine one that feels entirely too good after a week of scolding. And parading. Oh, man. How old is he, seriously?

He sighs and quickly pulls on his underwear, his jeans, before he reaches for the tie that holds the hospital gown into place. Fire shoots up his arm and he gives a startled, strangled cry, drops his hands.

Kate is at his side in a flash, concern in the line of her mouth, worry in her dark eyes. So he didn't dream it.

"What? What, Castle?"

"Nothing," he says, his old reflexes kicking up, the need to reassure her, lighten her burden. "I guess my shoulder is bruised from the airbag. It's nothing, Kate."

She relaxes visibly, pushes her hair back in something like embarrassment. "Okay," she breathes.

The softness in her voice, her downcast eyes - it reminds him of something. Earlier. In the haze of drugs, he heard-

"Third time's the charm," he repeats, curious, unable to tell if it was his imagination.

Her face jerks up, knowingness at the back of her gaze, and she says, "What?"

"You said that. Before."

She averts her eyes, might be blushing a little. Could be.

"At Ryan and Jenny's wedding."

He shakes his head. "Today."

And then her eyes cut back to him, confident, determined, if a little embarrassed. "Yes."

After reading his list.

"We need to talk," he says, feels the truth of that down to his bones.

"Yes," she answers, and if he's not mistaken, she sounds only relieved.

His heart, that he's been forcing to keep still, aloof, gives an unmistakeable little flutter.

"In the meantime." He turns, offers his back to her. "Help me get naked?"

* * *

><p>He watches her for a moment, then turns his head and lets the landscape outside the passenger window slide past him, dizzying and hypnotic.<p>

"Do you know how a radio works?" Kate asks suddenly.

He jerks his head back to her, bewildered. "Uh. Well. In theory. Yes."

"Radio waves, right?"

"Are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if you understand the concept of radio waves."

"Um. I think so?" What in the hell is she talking about? "Am I still stoned?"

She huffs a laugh and her lips quirk; when she slides a glance over at him, her eyes are leonine in the city lights.

"You're not stoned. I don't think?"

"I could've sworn we were just having a bizarre conversation about radio waves."

"We are. So you know what it is, right?"

"Radio? Yeah, Kate, I think I know what radio is."

"So imagine you have a city, and within that city are radio towers laid out in a pattern. Usually like a beehive - hexagonal."

"A beehive." He has no idea what she's getting at. "Is this for a case?"

"No. So in each cell of the beehive, the radio tower transmits as a base station - sending out and picking up radio waves."

His mouth drops open.

"The cool thing about these cell towers is that they can each transmit about thirteen hundred different frequencies."

No way. No way is she explaining cell towers to him. She is so freaking _hot._

"And the radio tower in cell one - it can't have the same frequencies as the bordering cells. But cell six, on the other side? It can reuse those frequencies. Thereby giving the network almost limitless carrying potential."

He startles to awareness as he realizes she's stopped the car. She's parked the car, actually, and quite expertly into a parallel space only a few buildings down from his own. "Kate."

"Don't interrupt, Castle." She shoots him a sidelong glance and then opens the driver's side door. "The more cells you have, the bigger the capacity."

Castle watches her in stunned silence as she slides around the hood of her Crown Vic. He comes to himself, fumbles at the door to push it open, manages to get wincingly get out of the car, face raw and feeling the bite of a late spring breeze.

Kate wraps her fingers over his forearm, lifts both eyebrows as if asking him if she should continue.

He gives her a smile that he knows is more hopeful than it should be. "So. Bigger capacity?"

She seems to get the entendre; her lips purse but she slides her arm through his, helps keep him steady. He winces away, his ribs stinging.

"Sorry," she murmurs, even as he shakes his head.

"I'm good. Good. All good, Kate."

She hovers for a moment, then continues on at his side, navigating him down the sidewalk. Which is good too, because he is starting to feel a little shaky.

"So that's a simple cell tower relay. Voice calls and texts are usually handled by core circuit - which just means that they can switch calls from tower to tower as the phone moves."

"You are seriously blowing my mind."

She nods to his doorman and puts her fingers at his back as he shuffles inside.

"Overlaid on that is an architecture of packet-switched data service - which gives us our smart phones."

"How in the world do you know this?" he interrupts, letting her push the call button for the elevator.

She gives him a mysterious look. "It sounds complicated with all the technical names, I know. But if you get radio waves, then you get how it works."

In the elevator, she stays close, which is good, because he feels distinctly uneven as it rises. "Yeah," he murmurs, blinking slowly.

"Do you get how it works?"

"I get it." He steps off the elevator with her, walks slowly down the hall. His face feels strange; he saw it in the mirror, saw the reaction on Alexis's face when she came into his hospital room. He'll have two black eyes and the rug burn from the airbag's deployment won't be going away any time soon. "Radio waves."

Kate takes his keys from his hand and unlocks the door into his apartment, steps back to let him go first.

Immediately, he's swarmed by his mother and Alexis, each claiming a side to help him through the door, chattering and worried, as Kate lingers. He throws a look over his shoulder, anxious, but she follows.

"Oh, Richard, we've made some pasta - just something light - and you should rest," his mother says, urging him into the living room.

Kate still follows. Alexis shoots her a look, but Castle squeezes his daughter's shoulder, uses the two women as leverage. As he sinks gingerly into the couch, his mother and Alexis shuffle back, watching him. But Kate comes forward and sits on the coffee table, regarding him.

"When's dinner?" he asks, glancing back at his mother, silently asking for a little space.

She gives him a hard look, but takes Alexis by the hand, patting it. "Come on. Let's check on the bread. Then we'll serve everything."

Castle turns back to Kate, sitting patiently on his coffee table, her knees brushing one of his.

He waits for it.

She says, finally, "Now that I've explained cell phones, does it sound like magic, Castle?"

It sounds like technical jargon and geek-love and a promise. It sounds like a promise he never expected. "Well, when you explain it like that, you kinda take the magic right out of it-"

"Good. Now we can cross that off your bucket list."

He grins so wide at her that his face cracks and stings, but he doesn't even care. Not one bit. "It's on notebook paper in my top desk drawer. You wanna get it?"

She smirks and gets up from the coffee table, heads for his study. He watches her as he leans back slowly into the couch cushions, tries to tamp down some of the wild hope that struggles in his chest like a beast in a bear trap. The sounds of plates and glasses come from the kitchen, the hushed tones of his mother and Alexis - probably discussing this. Discussing Kate.

It takes her some time, but she comes back to him with his bucket list and a pencil, a smile toying with her mouth, her lips pressed together. She looks like she is steadfastly ignoring the two women in the kitchen, focusing on him. She's _trying_, he realizes.

"Here it is."

She hands it to him with a strange ceremonial flourish, and he appreciates the flair, smiles at her as he takes it. He flips his list over to the back, puts the paper on the coffee table as she stands over him. Castle tries to lean forward but finds that his chest flames in agony.

He grunts, straightens up, his eyes closed as the aching wave begins to recede.

"Castle?"

He opens his eyes, holds out the pencil. "You cross it off. Can't quite bend over. Which reminds me, let's not forget the Ferrari. That's number three. Went to a lot of trouble for that one."

A darkness shadows her face, but it's gone in the next moment; she crouches down beside him, her left hand over his knee as if to keep herself steady as she balances on her toes.

She has to flip the paper back over, crosses through it. (Why does it thrill him to feel her balanced against him and see over her shoulder that he's accomplished the first three things on his list?)

On the back side once more, Kate braces the paper with her forearm and strikes through number thirty-seven:

_Convince self cell phones don't use magic._

Looks like she meant it.

They're doing this together.

He can't help but let his eyes travel to the last item on the list-

"You wanna attempt to convince your mother while we eat?" _Do you want me to stay for dinner,_ she seems to ask.

He jerks his gaze back up to her, knows it's all in his face, everything. "Yeah." _Stay for dinner._

Her fingers on his knee squeeze ever so slightly.

"Hey, Castle?"

He lifts his eyes from her hand to the suddenly serious look on her face. "Yeah?" He is not breathless, no; he's just winded from the bruising across his chest.

She gives him a stern look. "I'll swim in dolphin- and shark-infested waters with you. But if you punch a shark, you're on your own."

He bursts into laughter, wheezes with the force of it, feels the tears pool in his eyes as he tries to control it. Ah, it hurts. Hurts so good.

"Note - noted," he gasps, curls his hand around hers, feeling like he needs the anchor.

"Time to eat," his mother calls.

He struggles up, feels Kate's hands at his elbows, _helping._

Kate is debunking cell phones, and smiling at him so beautiful, and stroking the back of his elbows with her fingers, and promising sharks and-

third time's the charm.

* * *

><p><em>36. <em>Convince Mother cell phones don't use magic.<em>_

_37. Convince self cell phones don't use magic._


	2. Chapter 2

_8. Avoid having "the talk" with my amazing daughter._

* * *

><p>When he opens the door to his loft, she can still see the yellow-black bruise staining his chest through the open collar of his dress shirt.<p>

"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking stunned, standing in the doorway. "I thought we had a body?"

She shakes her head, then nods, then sighs. "Well, yes, but - we don't need to be there quite yet."

He buttons up the last button, slides on his sport coat. Jeans and french blue shirt, charcoal jacket. He looks good, despite the mottled skin, the scabs down the left side of his face.

"So you woke me at six for nothing?" he says, and gives her the half-grin he's affected lately, to keep from pulling the raw skin at his face, she thinks. It's endearing, and she likes it, kind of hopes it becomes a new habit.

"Not for nothing, Castle," she murmurs and reaches a hand up to his shoulder, lightly pushing him backward so she can get in the door. She never comes up when she swings by to pick him up for a new case, never even goes inside his building, but today is different. Today starts the beginning.

Or at least, one more step forward.

"What for, then?" he grins, letting her push him back into his living room. She's careful not to get his bruised left side, but she also sees the way walking brings him discomfort, a twinge. She'll need to remember that. Plan for it.

"I'm being a little creative with your list," she says, sliding her fingers around to grip him by the bicep, brushing her thumb over the starched shirt.

"Creative?" he asks, his voice cracking.

She grins to herself, biting her bottom lip to keep from looking like she's messing with him. Because she's not. She's not teasing. This is serious. "Creatively trying to mark off another one. Number eight."

His face blanks; he shakes his head. "Eight? I don't-"

"Go get your list; be ready to mark it off." She nudges him a little, bumping his hip to get him moving. "I'm not sure how much time I'll need, but Alexis has to be at the morgue around seven? At least according to Lanie."

Castle goes very still, his eyes burning as he stares at her. "Alexis?"

"Do you mind?" Kate resists the urge to twist the hem of her shirt with her restless fingers. "I should explain."

"Explain?" he breathes out, and now she can tell he's remembered what number eight on his list is:

_Avoid having "the talk" with my amazing daughter._

"Explain. My intentions," she breathes, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

Castle reaches for her, taking her by the elbow, clutching hard, his eyes glittering - warning and promise. "Yeah?"

She nods, can't open her mouth, can't possibly force words out of the desert of her throat.

"I'll go get her. And the list. Both."

He releases her, disappears up the stairs.

Kate finally breathes, hopes she can survive this.

* * *

><p>Alexis resists her father's nudging, dislodges her elbow from his hand, unwilling to lose any more time.<p>

"Dad, please, I'm already running late." She still has to put on makeup, and she can't remember if she put the files back in her bag, the ones Dr. Parrish gave her to take a look at-

"Alexis, please. It's important."

There's something in his voice, something that arrests her; an eagerness, a breathless hope that she hasn't heard lately. She reluctantly turns to him, examines his face. Uh. Yeah. It's all over him, little sparks in his eyes, the corner of his mouth coming up.

"What? What is it?"

He squirms a little, as if he's trying to hold back, but it spills out of him anyway. "Kate's here to see you."

"Kate?" Detective Beckett? Why - why on earth would she want to talk to Alexis?

Why would Alexis want to talk to _her_?

"Yeah," her dad says, shifting on his feet. Alexis can't decide if it's nervousness or just too much excitement. She's leaning towards the second one, which doesn't make sense, except-

Except ever since Kate stayed for dinner, after she brought him back from the hospital, things have - changed. Again. The blonde bimbo is gone, and it's as if she'd never been there. And Alexis's dad seems...better. Not great yet, but yes. Better.

"Okay," the young woman says slowly, putting down her mascara, her natural curiosity awoken. Lanie will scold her if she's late, but an update on the situation of Kate Beckett and Richard Castle might earn her forgiveness. "Lead the way, Dad."

The words are barely out of her mouth before he's heading back for the stairs, as close to running as he can get away with. She sighs but follows, notices a sheet of paper crumpled in his left hand. Alexis catches up with him in the stairs, and silently tries to snatch the paper out of his grasp. He's surprised enough to let go, but she only has time to read the title and the first three items before he gets it back.

"Hey, that's mine," he says, and he looks so very...serious.

Alexis is strangely put out by his wanting to keep it away from her. "How have I never seen this?"

A bucket list, Dad? Really?

He shrugs. "I did it after that movie with Morgan Freeman came out. I thought it was cool. I knew you'd think it was morbid, so. Kept it to myself."

She's tilting her head and trying to read over his shoulder down the stairs, not really listening - she can't quite make out 4, but 5 is _Win a Pulitzer _(*right*, Dad) and number 6... _Raise an amazing daughter. _It's crossed off.

Alexis feels her heart soften in spite of herself.

"Stop reading," her father chides, hiding the paper flat against his chest. She presses her lips together, tries to smother her nascent smile, get back to the moment.

"So. Why've you got that? Does it have anything to do with Kate's visit?"

He smiles - there it is again, the tremulous hope that makes her wary - and turns his back to her, taking the last step down. "Only one way to find out."

* * *

><p>Kate avoids looking at the young woman, instead turns to Castle with a hand on his forearm because it's clear he needs something to anchor him to the ground; he's almost bouncing. She needs something of an anchor as well.<p>

"Stay here, Castle," she murmurs, and then hands him the purple Sharpie she found at home. The marker she brought with her to liven it up a little, make it fun.

But this doesn't feel fun.

"I can't come too?" he sighs.

She shakes her head, reaches out a hand to Alexis, as if expecting the two of them to be conspiracists in this, as if expecting the same degree of camaraderie she has with Lanie.

This isn't Lanie. This is Castle's daughter - and Alexis only has a handful of impressions, and none of the truth.

Alexis only stares at Kate's hand a second, then glances back to her father. "Where are we going?"

"Into Castle's - your dad's study," she answers, even then looking at Castle to make sure.

He nods, and Alexis precedes her into the not-quite private room. It'll have to do.

"So what's this about?" the girl starts first, hands on her hips as she turns around. "A bucket list?"

"Sort of." She rehearsed this a hundred times in the car on the drive over. She knew exactly how it would go on her side of things; she planned for every contingency.

She still doesn't know how to start.

"So. . .what? You're helping my Dad out with one of the things on his list?" Alexis raises an eyebrow at her.

"I'm going to help him out with all of the things on his list," Kate answers.

Alexis smirks as if she wants to laugh but doesn't want do any of that laughing with Kate. "You're going to help him break up a royal marriage? I got a little peek of his list before he hid it from me."

"It's on his website," Kate huffs, then shakes her head. "We'll probably have to cheat a little bit."

Alexis nods. "Just - you know - don't break up William and Kate, okay? I really kinda like them. They're cute. And she's a commoner, right? Gives us all hope."

Kate lets out a laugh she didn't intend to give away, tries smiling at the girl. His daughter has never been mean, never rude, only protective. Kate has to remember that.

"Got it. Don't break up William and Kate," she answers. "Good rule."

"Second rule?" Alexis says, leaning back against the desktop, regarding Kate carefully, calculating, hesitant. "Something else you can't break up? Or really, just break. . ."

Kate frowns, almost crosses her arms over her chest but stops herself just in time. _Defensive posture._ Not good for communication. "Yeah?"

"Don't break my dad's heart?"

Kate sucks in a startled breath, blinks fast against the sting in her eyes, her chest tightening. "No. No intention. Alexis. I can't - I can't-"

Alexis drops her eyes, fingers gripping the edge of the desk as Kate falls silent, struck dumb with all the inadequate things she needs to say but can't find words for.

The girl sighs. "If you can't? Then don't. Okay? Just don't."

Oh jeez, this wasn't what - this isn't how this conversation should be going. "No, that's not it. I can. Am. Getting there. I want to. Does that - count for anything?"

Alexis lifts her eyes, words coming out of her mouth so fast, Kate isn't sure that the girl even knows she's saying them.

"Road to hell is paved with good intentions."

Kate stands stunned.

"Sorry," Alexis blushes, turns her head away. "But you're - he can't turn it off, Kate. Everything takes a back seat-"

"Not you," Kate says insistently. "Not you."

"Even me. I need him to live, to _be alive_, but working with you - no guarantees, right? So you get his life, and now you get his heart too?"

Kate squeezes her hands into fists, tremulous with the urge to _fight_ for this. "But he-"

Alexis shakes her head. "It's okay. I'm a grown-up. Basically. I won't even be living here next year. He makes his own choices, but he's just not - he has no boundaries with you, when it comes to you." Alexis gives a little shrug of her shoulders, a quiet laugh. "He has no rules."

"So make some," Kate blurts out, bites her lip when she hears how ridiculous it sounds.

But Alexis meets her eyes, her head tilting as she thinks that over. "Make some?"

"Rules," Kate says quietly, feels strength returning to her voice. Because Alexis is right - Castle needs some rules, and she does too. A guiding line to keep his overeager heart from getting trampled, crushed to bits by Kate's broken, jagged _issues._

"Rules?"

"Rules," Kate says again, nodding. "Let's make some rules."

"Like, what? Curfew at midnight and-"

"Sure. Curfew at midnight. That's - good, actually." The relief that bubbles up in Kate's chest is so overwhelming she has to sink back against the bookcase, drop her head. There's no way they can accidentally go too far if he's got to be home by midnight, right? No way to mess this up if he's back here in time for the late show.

No way for her to run.

"Oh - okay," Alexis gives a soft little noise of surprise. "Curfew at midnight. And. No - no sleepovers."

Kate nods, swallows past the damning and all-too-intense relief. It sucks that she's so relieved, because it means she still has problems, but this is good. This is very good.

"You don't - don't mind?" Alexis asks, lifting off the desk and stepping in closer.

Kate shakes her head, lifts her eyes to meet his daughter's. "I need this too."

Alexis startles back, but then keeps coming, looking more determined now. "At least until I'm out of the house, okay?" She gives Kate a wicked little grin, entirely too knowledgable. "Just wait until I leave."

Kate bites her lip, but this time in humor, the relief still riding a cresting wave in her chest. "I understand."

"Rule four? Don't take him for granted." Alexis stares her down on this one, suddenly so very confident.

Kate nods briskly. "Don't break his heart. Curfew at midnight. No sleepovers. Don't take him for granted." With each one she says, a piece of her resolve is shored up. Not only because she never meant to take him for granted, she never meant to break his heart, but also because this was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

"I guess. . .Kate. . .the only other thing I'd add . . ." Alexis trails off, bitting her lip, looking hesitant again, like it's not her place, like she doesn't know.

"Yeah? Lay it on me," Kate says, trying to grin around the holes in her body where it feels like all her guts are spilling out, staining the floor. Bitter and unattractive. But at least this way, everyone involved knows how ugly it can get with her.

"The last rule then," Alexis says, sounding clearer about it. Definite. "Let him - let him love you."

"What?" she gasps.

Alexis rushes in. "Don't - don't worry about - I mean. He just wants the chance to love you, Kate. Don't worry about trying to be ready for it or good enough or whatever else-"

"Lanie's been talking about me," Kate says, the breath knocked out of her.

Alexis looks worried. "Yes? I - I'm sorry. We talk about you both."

"Of course you do," she whispers, her chest tight.

"But it's a good rule. You need these rules too. I can tell. You were relieved when I said no sleepovers, weren't you? Because you're not ready. And that's fine, it's okay if you're not quite there yet, but my dad, _Dad_ - he just wants to love you."

Kate averts her eyes, nodding even as she does, because the girl is _right_. She's right, and Kate took that away from him this summer, took herself away, removed herself at the worst possible moment, and even though she still doesn't know how she'd have done it differently, she has to start making up for it now.

"Kate?"

"You're right. You're right. Okay. I - I got it."

"The rules?"

"They're good rules," Kate adds, finally looks back at his daughter. "Thank you."

Alexis grins suddenly, throws her arms around Kate in a surprise-ambush-attack of a hug that knocks Kate into the bookcase.

But she closes her eyes and hugs Alexis back, suddenly filled with confidence.

This is going to work.

* * *

><p>Castle finally sinks down on the couch, his knee continuously jerking, his fingers tapping against his thigh.<p>

He doesn't know how long it's been - feels like hours, when it's probably just a couple minutes - but it's Kate and his daughter in there, and he's still not certain Alexis has made her peace with the possibility of them as a couple, of him at the precinct, and - come _on, _Beckett - it's just so very cruel to leave him here, alone, when his imagination is always...

The door of his study opens.

He jolts forwards, up, no idea what to expect, except, well, probably not this.

Certainly not this.

Both Kate and his daughter have that look in their eyes, half relieved, half pleased with themselves; they look - amazingly enough - like this _went well._ Intense curiosity blossoms inside him, chases the concern away.

"I really have to finish getting ready and go," Alexis explains, _apologizes_ (he's stunned) with a look at Beckett. "Or Lanie will kill me. But I'm-" she hesitates, finishes on a smile. "I'm glad we talked, Kate."

Kate.

Wow.

"Me too, Alexis," Kate answers with a smile of her own, and that beautiful look in her eyes, hopeful and brimming, so bright.

"See you later, Dad," his daughter offers over her shoulder before she disappears upstairs.

He's absolutely speechless.

Kate turns that look on him, her whole being lighted up from the inside, mouth so tender; it doesn't exactly help.

"How did you - that - what -" he vaguely gestures in the direction of the stairs, realizes how stupid he sounds, closes his mouth. Try again, Rick.

He clears his throat. "What did you do to her?"

Kate tilts her head, regards him, her lips curling up but her eyes serious. "I just - I listened, Castle."

She listened. To his daughter. Right. He's surprised she's not out the door yet.

She must read some of his feelings on his face, because she laughs, low and throaty, as she comes closer. "You should be thanking me, Castle. You just avoided 'the talk' with your amazing daughter."

He finds his own lips curving into a responsive smile, can't help it, elated, thrilled with the meaning behind her words, the closeness of her body.

"So you're really doing this? Helping me with the list?"

Her fingers curl around his shirt collar, set it right, the softness of her thumbs against the sensitive skin of his neck. He tries not to shiver, fails, and then she meets his eyes, her own dark and charged with promise, with such confidence - his heart is going to stop any minute now.

"I'm really doing this. _We're_ really doing this, Castle."

She doesn't - she doesn't mean the list. He swallows, his throat so dry, and she lifts up a little - her heels aren't so high today - touches his mouth with hers. Not really a kiss, but it's warm and firm, it's _her_, and it's all he needs.

He closes his eyes, sways a little, dizzy with the happiness that hits him without warning. Kate catches him, secures him against her, her hands at his back, so strong; and she murmurs against his neck, "There are rules, Rick."

Rick.

Oh. How he loves the sound of that.

"What rules?"

He feels her smile, and she presses a kiss to his skin, clearly more adventurous when he can't see her. "Your daughter's rules."

He's exhilarated, his mind swamped with the reality of her, and the words take some time to sink in. "Alexis?" he asks after a moment. "Alexis made rules for us?"

Kate pushes back on his chest, disentangles herself from him so she can look at him.

"Yes. Curfew at midnight. No sleepovers."

He opens his mouth to argue - he's the parent here, after all, and he doesn't have to abide by his daughter's rules, really, _midnight?_ - but Kate looks so very serious about this, so determined; her set jaw, the line of her mouth tell him she wants the rules.

They tell him she's _doing this._

And hell, he won't argue with that.

"Okay," he says slowly, as he starts to realize that rules might be a good idea, might make her feel safer, might help them take things slow, especially when her body is tantalizingly near, when the smell of her surrounds him. "Curfew at midnight, no sleepovers. Any other rules I should know about?"

Kate averts her eyes and bites her lip. He reaches for her cheek with a finger, his heart pounding at being allowed to do this, and he brushes his lips to her cheekbone.

So long. He's been wanting to do this for so long.

"Kate? Rules?"

"N-no," she stammers, her lashes caressing his mouth as her eyes slam shut. "The other rules are just. Just for me."

"Just for you?" he echoes, not sure what she means.

She opens her eyes again, gives him a look that's heartbreakingly honest, hesitation and hope and resolution. "So I don't screw this up."

Kate.

He kisses her then, her face cradled in his palms, gentle and delicate, exploring her mouth like one of those very ancient, very rare artifacts, so fragile it could crumble at the lightest touch.

But the two of them - they're not fragile. Not like that.

They won't crumble.

And when he breaks away, he smiles at her, beams, lets her see exactly how things are, everything he's been hiding away, the swirling joy, the love that overflows from his too-needy heart, rich and overwhelming. How she means the world to him.

"You won't," he tells her.

She blinks, looks dazed, a little lost, although there's a smile floating around her mouth.

"Won't?"

"Screw this up," he clarifies, taking a step back so he won't haul her to his bedroom, won't dart his tongue past her parted lips and take that dreamy look out of her eyes, make them dark and stormy and wanting instead-

Her smile becomes full-fledged, and he wonders exactly how attuned she is to his thoughts.

"No?" she asks, notes of laughter in her voice.

"I won't let you," he tells her, promises her, and he takes another step back, because man-

He's just so in love with her.

Kate nods, the playful look subsiding into a more solemn one. Her eyes stray and she leans in, picks up the sheet of paper that he's completely, utterly forgotten about. Right. His list.

"One more item to cross off, Castle," she says, handing the list to him.

"You do it," he answers. Only fair, right? She did all the work on this one.

He hands her the purple Sharpie she gave him when she first walked in, watches as she draws a neat line through number 8. Her eyes flicker towards him as she does, her lips pressing together, and he wonders if maybe, maybe, it means exactly the same thing to her as it does to him.

One more item crossed off means-

one step closer to number 50.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bucket List**

**co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles**

* * *

><p>It's been a glacial week for them. Agonizingly slow. At a veritable - if not actual - standstill.<p>

So he comes up with a plan.

(Still, beggars can't be choosers, Richard Castle. Be grateful she is here at all.)

Almost against her will, Kate has been doing all these little things - lovestruck smiling when he hands her a morning bear claw, brushing her fingers against his in the elevator, knocking knees with him under the restaurant table.

One afternoon, she hooked her arm through his and pushed _him_ out the door so the two of them could get lunch for the team. And yesterday morning, when he showed up an hour late, he found her in the break room with her hands on her hips, staring down the espresso machine like a bull about to take on the red cape. He handed her the coffee he'd already gotten her, and Kate turned to him, lifted up on her toes, and kissed him.

Intimate and tender and happy.

Smiling at him.

And Esposito was in the room.

He got a fist bump for it, but he also got an idea.

So the week's progress was slow, yes (to him at least), but it was also progress.

Which is why he comes to the precinct this morning with a plan - cross off another item on his bucket list and also give her a chance to catch up with who they are now - where they are going.

He only has one coffee this morning and he finds her at her desk, doesn't even look at his chair (he doesn't want to be tempted), and places her cup by her keyboard with a flourish.

She glances up at him, that disbelieving happiness on her face, like she can't believe she's doing this (or maybe that she hasn't done this before), and she curls both hands around her coffee and then frowns.

"Where's yours?"

"I'm supposed to meet the publisher in twenty minutes. And-"

She bites her lip, brow knitting.

"-then I promised Alexis I'd pick her up for lunch." He knows the Alexis part will get her, and it does - her brow smooths out; she nods.

"Okay, well. I guess you're in and out today?"

"Paperwork, right?" he says, grinning at her, resting a hand on the back of his chair but still, still not allowing himself the temptation of moving around and sitting in that chair. Not today.

"Yeah, true," she says, but she looks disappointed. And actually, that's good. A good thing. For her to realize how much she does want him here, with her. "But I - well. Okay."

"I wanted to sneak out before Gates saw me too." He rubs his hand across the top of the chair. "And you don't need me for paperwork."

She sighs, her chin resting on her hand. "True. But I got us something. A chaperone."

He startles on a laugh. "A what?"

She gestures with her chin to his chair and he slides his gaze down, laughs again at the thing she's got settled there.

A monkey.

A stuffed animal with a Yankees jersey, felt baseball cap, those long and spindly arms, furry white-

"A rally monkey?" he grins, snatching it up with glee. "Holy crap. Our chaperone is a rally monkey? Kate, for you this is seriously bizarre. Adorable, but bizarre."

When he glances back at her, she's grinning like crazy, eyes as bright as he knows his are, but she's trying to hide it behind her hand, ducking her head, her entire posture so proud and pleased and practically smirking. Like she knows something he doesn't-

"Oh," he gasps, because now he _gets it._ "Now I - now I own a monkey."

She grins even wider, abandons hiding it. "Now you own a monkey. Sorry - I did look into maybe adopting one at a rescue place, and I tried to figure out the easiest way to get a permit to own a pet monkey in the city, but-"

"But this is so much better. I love it." His heart clenches, he squeezes the albino little rally monkey, places it back on his chair. "That's good he's here, because he can sit in for me while I'm gone today."

She tilts her head, glances down at the monkey, then back up at him. "Oh. Yeah."

"And then I'll come pick him up later. He can chaperone us then," he says. Doesn't say that _later_ is most likely _tomorrow_, if he can stick to the plan.

He wants to stay here now, instead of leaving her. He really does.

But he has a plan.

* * *

><p>She spends ridiculously large chunks of her afternoon staring longingly at his chair instead of doing any work at all; the monkey smiles blindly at her, not quite filling the void left by Castle, opposing his unending good cheer to the bittersweet ache in Kate's chest.<p>

For what must be the twentieth time, she turns away with a sigh, tries to focus on the paperwork from their recently closed case, her eyes skimming over the details of the suspect's confession.

She catches Esposito smirking at her, arches a threatening eyebrow; he quickly looks away, although the line of his mouth remains in a suspicious curve.

The guys made fun of the monkey earlier. They haven't stopped, really, and although it's the very reason why she chose it - it's so ugly, she knew it would immediately win Castle's love - she cannot help feeling a little defensive of the thing.

It's their mascot, right? Their chaperone.

Castle's and hers.

She doesn't want anyone else to make fun of it.

Of course, Ryan and Esposito must know this, because they're playing with her. Still. She ignores them as best as she can, let the mocking looks on their faces go unanswered - they're like an itch, and if she can keep from scratching it long enough, it'll go away.

"Detective Beckett."

Kate jerks - Gates is quite good at sneaking up on them, really - and straightens in her chair, brushing a hand over the file she's holding as if she wants to make sure it's clean or clear (she's not sure which).

She hates it, this feeling of guilt, even when she's done nothing wrong.

"Sir?"

"What is this..._thing_ doing here?"

Gates nods at the monkey like she doesn't want to get too close, like it could be explosive or contagious, and Kate grits her teeth.

"It's a - it's a gift, sir."

The captain's eyebrows lift in a carefully executed expression - amused disapprobation.

"From Mr. Castle, I presume?"

Well, technically-

"No, sir," Beckett replies, always respectfully polite.

_It's the other way around._

A brief look of surprise crosses Gates's eyes, but it disappears quickly and then she's pursing her mouth, saying, "Well, whoever gave you this, detective, my precinct isn't a zoo or a children's playground. No stuffed animals."

"It won't stay here, sir," Kate answers tightly, an intense wave of nostalgia cresting in her chest. Oh, she misses Roy, her Captain.

She grabs the monkey, intending to stuff it into her bottom drawer until she leaves (she's sorta sad that Castle left this morning before even naming the thing); but Gates makes a small sound of surprise and catches the arm of the animal.

The captain's looking at the jersey like she didn't seen it before, and maybe she hadn't, Kate thinks - from where she was standing, the arm of the monkey probably hid the baseball t-shirt.

"A rally monkey," Gates states, and her voice sounds a lot more natural, more genuine than it normally does. "For the Yankees."

Kate holds her breath.

Victoria Gates chuckles - _actually _chuckles - before asking, "Are you a fan of baseball, detective?"

"Yes," Beckett answers, doesn't think twice about it. "My father took me to baseball games when I was younger. I don't have that much time now, but I still love it."

"Me too," the captain says, lowering her tone as if in confidence. "My husband always buys me tickets for our anniversary. The best seats he can find. Some women would complain, say they want flowers or jewelry, but there's nothing I like more than watching a good game with him."

_With him._

Gates clears her throat, as if surprised to find herself talking about something so personal, and steps back after she's set the monkey down on Castle's chair again.

"I suppose it can stay here for today," she says, almost affectionate. "As long as it's gone tomorrow."

"It will be, sir," Kate replies, still somewhat shocked at the good humor - the _humaneness _that Gates has just displayed. She watches the captain walk back into her office, then looks down at the monkey, finds her lips curling up.

Oh, she wishes Castle had seen that.

Their chaperone is clearly magic.

* * *

><p>Beckett checks her phone again, but still nothing. She grabs her jacket from the back of her chair and nods to Ryan.<p>

"Let's roll, boys."

The guys drive their own unit, and Beckett takes hers, the passenger seat beside her rather empty; the air in the car almost echoing with the silence.

A burst of static from the radio, a call from the crime scene for the forensic team's van, and Beckett finds herself pulling up to the site ahead of the boys. When she gets out, she checks her phone - still nothing - and slides it into her pocket.

Guess he's not showing up. It's happened before.

"Hey girl," Lanie says. She has just arrived as well, apparently, and walks with her inside the apartment building with her kit in hand.

"Hey, Lanie. Know what we got?"

"GSW to the chest is what I hear. Where's your boy?"

"Meetings. Lunch with Alexis. Don't know what after that."

They get IDs checked at the elevator; the officer sends them up to the fifth floor. She and Lanie part at the entrance to the apartment - Lanie heading straight back for the body while Beckett takes a moment to get a summary report from the responding officers.

Ryan and Espo join her soon after, and she sends them to canvas neighbors, then checks her phone after finishing up her notes.

Nothing. Still.

* * *

><p>It's so much harder than he expected.<p>

He wants to run right back to the precinct, but he won't. He won't.

Alexis waves good-bye to him, leaves him on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. He's itching to go back to the precinct, especially after that last text informing him of the new case. He really really wants to go back. Really.

But it's not part of the plan.

He does text her now to say he just finished a long visit with Alexis and he's going home to write since his lunch went so late. He walks because it takes more time that way, and the pedestrians are thick in this area, so it's even longer, and he wastes-

Yeah, okay, he's truly pathetic now. If he-

No, no. He has a plan.

Really. It's a good plan. There's a point to it. And then he can cross one more thing off the list, and they'll be that much closer to the one he's really looking forward to, the one he wants so badly he can practically taste it-

_Make it last_.

Number fifty.

When he gets to the loft, he heads to the study and pulls out his laptop, settles in for some more Nikki Heat. He's gotten an idea for the next book, if there is a next book (they're still working on that contract), and he wants to get it down before he loses it.

He starts typing, bare bones of the idea stretching out on the page, but his mind keeps going back to the 12th, back to her, back to the list. He saves his document after a few pages, pulls up the Richard Castle website.

He hasn't posted the newly crossed out list to the website yet; he likes knowing that it's just between them for a while. Just their thing.

The list is in his desk drawer, right at the top. He pulls it out, brushes his fingers over the last line. The purple Sharpie above it looks bright, cheerful against the page, makes him grin to see it. He should get a different color - green, maybe - for the next few. Make it colorful.

A rainbow of things that he and Kate will do together.

It feels really good, getting these things accomplished, even if a little creatively.

But this one? Driving him seriously crazy. He wants to cut it short, go right back to the precinct and-

Maybe it doesn't have to be all day, right? Yeah.

Dinner. He can surprise her with dinner. That works.

Besides. He left his monkey there. And he didn't even name it. Serious oversight.

Castle grins to himself and checks the time. Dinner at five is respectable enough. He'll head in to the precinct in an hour.

* * *

><p>His first idea is to pick up Chinese from that place she likes (last time she ate half his mango chicken on top of her own Szechuan pork, kept giving him these looks from under her eyelashes so he wouldn't get mad), but when he reaches the restaurant, he finds himself hesitating at the door.<p>

Might not be the best idea.

If he brings her dinner at the precinct, she and the guys will share all the details of their freshly-made murder board with him, rope him in - he'll need to find the solution, the key to the mystery, and he will never leave.

Which would ruin all his careful efforts to stay away from the precinct. No good.

No, he's going to stride into the bullpen, confident, purposeful, and he's going to take her to dinner. Out. With him.

And if she says no - _when_ she says no, because come on, this is Kate Beckett and she's just been given a new murder to solve - he will keep pushing until she changes her mind. He won't budge until she comes.

An hour, only an hour; it's all he's asking for. He will let her get back to the precinct, work all night and run herself ragged, if she likes, as long as she comes to dinner with him.

Just an hour, Kate.

* * *

><p>She's standing at the board, marker in hand, when she picks up on his presence.<p>

She doesn't know it's him at first; it's just this disturbance on the spectrum of her awareness, warning her that someone new has stepped into her space. But her body must be faster than her brain, must react to his scent in the air, or the pattern of his footsteps, because when she turns her eyes, she already knows.

Her lips curl up and her chest loosens, flooded with sudden warmth; she can't help any of it. How she feels around him.

"Hey," Kate says, stupidly taken as she watches him lean against her desk, her heart so very pleased with the way he fits there. Belongs.

Her partner.

He picks up the monkey, fiddles with it.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd be back," she adds, arching her eyebrow but keeping her voice light so he won't take her seriously, won't realize how much she's missed him. "Missed the crime scene."

"I did," he answers, and he sounds entirely too nonchalant, unconcerned, when she knows he loves crime scenes. Hell, last week he even got up at four when she called about that double murder with the paint and the brushes-

Man, she can't keep her train of thought when he looks at her like that. Eyes so blue, much too tender.

"I'm not here for the case," he says, tilting his head, smiling at her, soft and intimate. Like they share a secret. Some girly part of her wants to giggle at the thought.

"You're not?" she answers, making a considerable effort to remain coherent. She's suddenly very aware of Ryan and Esposito's prying eyes; they know all there is to know, really, but she feels protective of this thing with Castle, like a bird with its newborn babies, or a gardener with a rare, fragile flower.

One that needs constant care and attention.

"Let's go to the break room," she suggests, moving already; but he stops her with a hand on her wrist, monkey forgotten in the chair.

"I'm just here to ask if you want to get dinner, Kate."

Get dinner.

She glances back at the board, looking for help.

"Castle, I'm in the middle of a case-"

"And I'll let you get back to it. In an hour. When you're fed and relaxed. Did you even get lunch?" he asks, an eyebrow arched at her like he knows the answer.

And damn him, he does. She presses her lips together, averts her eyes, taking her chance to give her team a threatening look that makes them pretend to be busy again.

Her heart wants her to say yes. Her stomach wants her to say yes. And before her brain can find a valid objection, Castle's grabbed the monkey that's been keeping her company all day, and he holds it in front of him, directs both his and the animal's idiotic grins at her.

"Monkey wants you to."

She bites her bottom lip, but she's too late; the smile is out already.

Oh, she really wants this, doesn't she? Castle teasing and tender and trying to pry her away from her job, all to easily.

"Okay, Castle. You win. Get my coat."

She smirks a little at the surprised joy on his face, the way his shoulders relax, his whole body open to her. Didn't expect her to give in so fast, did he?

There's something so satisfying about catching Castle unawares. Probably because she knows how his writer's brain works, knows the million possibilities that spread out before him, and surprising him means - means that he didn't even envision it.

Mmm. She loves that.

She needs to do it more often, she thinks idly, enjoying the way his warm, solid fingers move over her neck as he straightens the collar of her jacket.

And just for that, she takes his hand, looking at him intently as she laces their fingers together.

Yes. There it is again. The childlike awe, the overflowing happiness.

"Let's go, Castle," she says, and she tugs on his arm, the pound of her heart deafening in her ears.

* * *

><p>He just takes her out for Chinese, their usual, but they actually dine in rather than get it to go. She watches him from the corner of her eyes, not sure what he's doing. Castle is usually rather blatant in his intentions, but this is almost subtle.<p>

Almost.

He's a little too careful for subtle.

She shifts her foot closer, but he adjusts, keeps talking like she didn't just have her heel touching his calf. Hmm. What's up Castle?

After dinner, he hands her out of her chair with a light touch, then lets her go to help her slide her coat up her arms. A brush of his fingers through her hair, pulling it out from under her collar, and then he gives her a little nod of his head, starting her forward.

It only takes a few steps for her to realize he's not touching her, that there's a careful six inches or so between them. He's not crowding her, not even close, and that's confusing. Not the usual Castle _modus operandi._

Hmm. She's not sure she likes this.

Back out on the sidewalk, he shoves his hands in his pockets, gives her a tight smile. A cheerful thing, but still restrained. "Walk you back?"

She furrows her brow. "You're not - staying?"

"No. I have a deadline."

Oh.

"So. Walk you back?"

"I can make it on my own," she says, but she doesn't want to say it. She wants him to take her hand and nudge her hip with his, tease her, try to convince her to go home early.

"Okay. Well. Good."

Good?

She reaches out on impulse and squeezes his fingers, tangling hers with his, trying not to let it get to her. The distance.

"Night, Kate," he says with that gentle and happy smile. "Good luck with the case."

"Yeah. You - you too."

He gives her a blank look.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Your deadline?"

He gives a half-hearted shrug. "Not really up to me."

"Oh?"

Castle shakes his head. "Nothing. Here, let me get you a cab-"

"No," she says. "It's only a few blocks. The walk will clear my head."

He nods again, his fingers squeeze around hers as well and then let go. She watches him turn and head down the sidewalk towards his loft.

Strange. He's not pulling away, not distancing himself; he's just making himself scarce.

Maybe it really is just work - the writing. Maybe this is how it goes with him, maybe he gets so involved in writing that he can't come back to earth.

She sighs, shoves her hands in her pockets, and heads back for her open case and the rally monkey they left sitting in his chair at the precinct. Which still goes unnamed.

* * *

><p>Castle taps his fingers on the sheet of notebook paper, smooths it over his thigh. He really did try to write more of the Nikki chapter - he did - but it just didn't come.<p>

He keeps debating the wisdom of his plan. Her face as he left her on the sidewalk-

Oh, that was a mistake, wasn't it? Backing off right now is probably the least smart thing he could do. But he's making a point, and it's for the list, and it is something they're doing together even if she doesn't know she's doing it.

And he bought a green Sharpie at the Walgreens on the corner for just this one, make it happier when they do get a chance to cross it off. Yeah. Maybe he'll surprise her tomorrow morning, bring the list with him to the precinct when he brings her coffee.

This is agony. This is a terrible idea.

He should-

The knock at the door startles him so badly that he drops the list and the marker both. He scrambles to pick them both up, trips over the end of the couch as he darts for the door.

When he opens it, Kate is standing there, looking far more hesitant than he likes but also rather determined. She's got the stupid monkey with her.

"Kate," he says, breathing out his relief, his eyes traveling to that rally monkey. Chaperone monkey.

She shrugs in her jacket as if she's uncomfortable, jerks her head towards the living room. "Can I come in?"

"Of course. Course. Yes." He opens the door wider and watches her walk inside, a smile breaking across his face. She's here. Of her own free will. After all day of-

"What the hell is going on, Castle?"

He stumbles to a halt, the door closing as he falls back against it. He stares at her; she's clutching the rally monkey to her stomach.

"I don't get it. And instead of going home miserable, this - this sense of free-floating anxiety haunting me for the rest of the night, I'm just gonna come right out and say it. You've been acting weird all day. And I don't understand."

Oh. Kate.

His heart clenches and he holds up the list, the green marker, tries to figure out a way to explain. "I was working on the list."

"By yourself?" she says, her forehead crinkling, eyes locked on his.

"No. No, it needs you too. Number 9."

She shakes her head but comes closer, holding her hand out for the list. He swaps with her, list for the monkey, watches her skim the lines until she hits it.

She lifts confused eyes to his. "What does-?"

"I gave you space. With lots of exclamation marks."

Her mouth drops open, a laugh tumbles out.

"I did good? I mean, it was a lot of space, and it was kind of killing me. But I figured a whole day of space was worth the capital letters too. And see? I did need you for that."

She huffs at him but snatches the green marker out of his hand, uncaps it with her teeth, then presses the list against his chest and marks through number nine.

He watches the fire in her eyes, watches her lean back and recap the marker, wipe it off on her pants leg. She hands them both back and takes the monkey from him in return.

"Hey, you can't have that," he says, grabbing one of the monkey's unnaturally long arms. Albino arms, since it's a white, Yankees rally monkey. "That's my chaperone; I own it now. You gotta mark that one off the list too."

She rolls her eyes and takes the list back, the pen, goes through that whole routine. He likes to watch her mouth around the cap, the way her lips flare back from the plastic. It shouldn't be that sexy, but it is.

He does have a thing for office supplies. Maybe it's a writer thing - the array of markers, the smell of paper, the virgin pads of post-it notes. And watching Kate Beckett have her dirty way with that green Sharpie is entirely too delicious.

She shoves the monkey into his hands as well. "There. Numbers nine and twenty-four both crossed out. We're going fast."

He grins. "We are. Closer and closer to the end."

She gives him a little look, but he knows that she knows what he means just by the way her eyes regard him. A lot of breathless, scary _want_ in her eyes. She's almost drowning in it; it floods him as well.

Castle shuffles closer, but she steps back. "What happened to space, Castle?"

He sighs. "It's over?"

"Oh yeah?"

He nods enthusiastically, reaches for her elbows, tossing the monkey over her shoulder towards the couch. It slides off. He doesn't care.

She comes closer, settles into the cove of his embrace, slides her arms around him as well. "I don't like space."

"Oh?"

"It's not any fun. And coming from you, it's confusing."

"No more space then." He curls his arm up her back, lets his fingers slide beneath her hair to her neck. She feels warm. "I didn't like it either. It was unnatural."

"I'm sure," she murmurs, her lips at his cheek and hovering there. Tantalizing.

He turns his head and catches her mouth with his, soft, exploratory, and then he caresses her neck with the tips of his fingers as he keeps their kiss light.

She pushes into him a little, getting closer, her hand at the back of his head, the other fisted in his shirt, mouth wet and tender on his. When she breaks from him to catch her breath, she does so by leaning her forehead against his chin. He can feel her shake as she gulps for air.

Awesome. The experiment worked. She doesn't want space from him either.

"That monkey is watching me," he mutters.

She laughs - his goal - and lifts her head to look at him. "Did its job then." Her eyes soften. "I should go."

He slides his hands down her arms. "Or you could stay a little longer. Watch television with me?"

"Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?"

He laughs at that, a surprised bark that makes her beam back at him, all proud and glorious. Castle shakes his head. "No. I mean just curl up on the couch with me and my new monkey."

She smirks at him, lips pressed together in her disapproving-but-secretly-approving-because-you're-so-cute smile. "You and the monkey both?"

He nods, wicked things coming to mind. "It is a baseball rally monkey. He's just trying to help me score."

Her mouth drops open at that one, her eyes startling wide, but she laughs again, shaking her head at him. "That is - that is terrible."

"No home run then? I'd settle for a triple."

"Third base? Really?"

He hedges. "Second?"

But she's smirking at him again, turning away, her eyes all _come hither_, and he follows her to his couch, sinks down beside her. He gets distracted for a moment, tries to settle the monkey on his lap, at his side, somewhere-

"Keep your eye on the ball, Castle, or you'll never get a hit."

And then, of course, he doesn't take his eyes off her. No matter what's on television.

Or how creepy that monkey is.

* * *

><p><em>9. SPACE! ! ! !<em>

_24. Own a monkey._


	4. Chapter 4

_13. Eat that blowfish sushi that kills people_

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" he whines, tugs at the blindfold with the hand she isn't holding. The cab takes a sharp turn, the momentum pushing her against him, and she takes the opportunity to snag his fingers away from the black fabric.<p>

"Castle. Do I have to cuff you?" she says. Her voice betrays her; she was aiming for stern, but she's having trouble filtering out her amusement.

Still, she relishes the following silence on his part. A little shocked, a lot turned-on, or so she thinks.

He clears his throat. "Do I - do I have to answer that question now? Or can I leave it open for later?"

Kate throws her head back and laughs, thoroughly delighted with him, with tonight, with the fact that they're doing this. She's taking Richard Castle on a date.

Finally.

"I'd have thought the cuffs were a little too much for a first date, Rick. Even for you."

His lips curl up, unmistakable, at the word _date_; she feels the answering flicker of warmth in her chest, and her fingers move of their own volition, her thumb cradling the back of his hand.

"I think a lot of people would argue over your very liberal use of the phrase _first date_," he shoots back smugly.

"Oh, really. You one of them, Castle?" She's arched her eyebrow even though he can't see her - force of habit.

He waits for a few beats before he answers, a silly-tender expression on the portion of his face that she can see, "No. Nope. I'm perfectly happy with the term _first date._"

He would be.

She's toying with the idea of leaning in and kissing his cheek, just because he's sweet and she feels like it, when the cab comes to a somewhat brutal stop, the seatbelt cutting her air supply. Ouch.

"We're here, miss."

"Thanks," she says, a little breathless, getting her wallet out and giving their driver a twenty. She can tell Castle is growing restless at her side.

"Can I take off the blindfold now?" he asks eagerly after he's unfastened his belt.

So impatient. "No," she answers insistently, taking the change from the cabbie. "I'll tell you when you can."

He heaves a long, dramatic sigh - you'd think he'd been denied his favorite candy - and she takes back his hand before she gets out of the car, pulling him after her.

"Careful," she warns as she leads him onto the sidewalk. "There's a step here."

Of course, he trips on it - she wonders if he's doing it on purpose - and he stumbles into her, his weight knocking her off-balance, causing her fists to close tightly on his shirt in an attempt to hold on. "Castle," she breathes as she finds her footing, half-scolding, half-laughing. "Watch out."

"Not my fault if you're such a terrible guide," he mutters, but he has a smile on his face and a hand on her waist, and he's so obviously enjoying this.

"Uh-huh," she says, letting go of his fingers and turning him around so she can untie the blindfold. "Well, try not to get us both killed, will ya? Leave that-" she pauses for dramatic effect, "-to the blowfish," she finishes, grinning, as she loosens the fabric and lets him see.

He stares, mouth open, at the window of the Sugiyama, then turns to her, blue eyes alight with excitement.

"You're using our date to help me cross one more item off the list."

Huh. Said like that, it doesn't sound so good, but he doesn't...seem to mind. In fact, he's-

Stepping closer. Leaning in. Kissing her.

His lips are warm and his tongue is, too; she moans, surprise and pleasure both, as she parts her mouth for him, feels his hands thread through her hair. He's enthusiastic but gentle, a strange combination that feels so very like him; and she's just relaxing into him, starting to give back, when he breaks away, his smile wide and radiant.

"You're amazing," he beams, and her heart stammers in her chest, an arrhythmical thud that doesn't sound too healthy. "And I had to do that, you know. In case we both die in there."

Right. She nods slowly - not much use for words now - and lets him lace theirs fingers back together, lead her inside.

Oh, neither of them is dying tonight.

* * *

><p>Cherry blossoms in frosted yellow vases line the wall, the lighting is warm and recessed, the bamboo floors are slick under his dress shoes. Castle pauses and waits until Kate is seated in the booth, and then he slides in across from her.<p>

She's apparently called ahead because their waiter mentions the three course meal as if in confirmation, nods his head when Kate agrees, and asks only about their beverages.

Castle has no idea, and there are no menus in sight, but Kate asks for sake - karatanba, cold - and it arrives in a gorgeously labeled glass bottle with two miniature bowls that serve as cups. Frosted, jade green glass. Kate pours the sake and gives him a soft look.

"So. How does this work?" he asks. She seems to be taking great delight in controlling this night. Ever since he gave her space, she's been rather . . . relentless, as if she's stepping up her game. He's willing to sit back and let her have it; he wants to see how far it goes, how much she's put into it.

"Three course kaiseki," she says. "Look it up."

He pulls out his phone, glances around, and hides it down by his leg, feeling a little wrong for being on a device in here, amidst the tone and tenor of serenity that the restaurant gives off.

According to his phone, the three course kaiseki means grilled fish of the day, fugu sashimi, toban, and shokuji. A handful of delicious words which thrill him to no end: toban is something like grilled fish steak served on a toban plate which sizzles, shokuji is rice, miso soup, and Japanese pickles, but fugu sashimi -

the deadly blowfish.

Raw.

"This is the best ever," he breathes, googling fugu on his phone as discreetly as possible in the busy restaurant.

Kate's knee brushes his; he glances up at her. Her eyes are brilliant, directed at him. "What's it say?"

"Fugu can be lethally poisonous so restaurant preparation of fugu is strictly controlled. Only chefs who have qualified through rigorous training are allowed to deal with the fish, removing the toxic parts to avoid contaminating the meat."

When he looks up after reading that, she's got an elegant little arch to her eyebrow that he adores.

He drops his eyes and reads again, "The domestic preparation occasionally leads to accidental death, thus becoming one of the most celebrated and notorious dishes in Japanese cuisine."

"Why does your bucket list contain so many items which might actually cause us to kick the bucket?" she sighs.

Castle lifts his eyes back to her again and grins. "Yeah. That may be why there aren't so many I've done?"

She shakes her head, but her hair spills around her shoulders and falls forward. He reaches out - can't help himself - and brushes it back, his fingertips skimming her cheek.

"We - we aren't going to die," he says. But he wonders. A little bit. "I can't believe you did all this."

She gives him that Mona Lisa smile, mysterious and alluring and reserved. "I like sushi. This will just be a little more of a . . . an intense sushi experience."

"I'll say."

"Lately, I'm all for intense," she grins, the slip of her lips giving her away. "Besides, I did my research. I know what the symptoms are."

He lifts his eyebrows, freaking out a little bit. Just a little. Not much. Symptoms of poisoning. Toxicity. "They are?"

"Dizziness, exhaustion, headache, nausea, difficulty breathing. Paralysis with consciousness but the inability to speak. Breathing stops. Asphyxiation."

He feels his chest tightening like he's already poisoned. "Why again are we doing this?"

"Because it can be done," she says, then tilts her head. "Why? Are you afraid, Castle?"

God, she's amazing. She's just - so very sexy, and her hair is in soft waves around her face, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes saying things he's wanted to hear for so long now.

"Not - not afraid. No."

At that moment, their waiter slides a platter of grilled fish carefully onto the wood table, the presentation precise and exquisite, before he then settles a square white plate in front of each of them. He nods his head and disappears.

"Chopsticks," he sighs.

She laughs lightly. "You'll be fine."

"With the noodles, I'm fine. But this is rice," he mutters, but still, he picks up the chopsticks from their little smooth stone. Cool; they fit in the grooved resting place perfectly. This place is awesome.

The platter in the center of the table holds a delicious looking tuna, seared in some kind of sauce that smells tangy and tantalizing, laid on a bed of rice and framed by lemon wedges and cilantro.

Kate slides her chopsticks under a few slices of fish, expertly transfers them to her plate. Her shoulders are bare in the sleeveless black shirt, the neckline draped low, a glitter of gold between her breasts from her mother's ring on its chain.

Gorgeous. "Kate?"

She glances up, a piece of fish halfway to her mouth. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

That spark of pleased pride lights up her eyes; her mouth twists in that pressed lip smile.

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p>By the time the waiter brings the potentially deadly fish to their table, Kate is deliciously buzzed. Maybe it's the warmth of the sake running through her veins, or the little sounds of pleasure Castle makes as he tries not to gobble down the food; but she feels empowered, feels bold and dangerous, and she slides a foot out of her black heels, touches her toe to his ankle.<p>

Castle jumps, and the waiter, who's just setting the plate in front of him, looks up in alarm, backs away as if he might be responsible.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

Kate bites her lip, trying to hide her smile, but her partner gives her a knowing, narrow-eyed look as he replies, "No, no, don't worry. Everything's fine."

The young man retreats with a nervous little bow and a few words, hoping they'll enjoy the food, and she finds herself on the receiving end of a very blue stare.

"Trying to give me a heart attack before I can die of food poisoning, is that it?"

The smile breaks out in spite of her efforts. "Jeez, Castle. You got me." And as if to support her statement, she moves her foot a little, finds the edge of his pant leg, nudges it to slide under.

His skin isn't warm but her toe is cooler, and she feels his distinct shiver against her. Mmm. She needs to stop this.

They're in a restaurant, and the thoughts in her mind - completely inappropriate.

Not to mention, this is their first date. Well. First _official_ date, anyway.

From the darkness that's flared in Castle's eyes, he's not in a much better place himself. Kate sighs, forces herself to take a mental step back. And while she's at it, take back her foot, too.

Her shoe feels cold and not nearly as comfortable as his skin.

"Not sure I wanna try this after all," he murmurs, his voice washing over her, warmer, much more abrasive than the soft sounds of the water features that surround them.

This-?

Oh. The food.

She lifts an eyebrow at him, question and challenge both.

"I'd rather live to see the end of the night," he explains, rather unnecessarily, since the intimate, suggestive curl of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye are speaking volumes on their own.

"You're the one with the stupid bucket list, Castle," she points out rather breathlessly. And then she reaches for the chopsticks and snatches a piece of fugu sashimi, brings it to her mouth. Holding his eyes the whole time as she puts it on her tongue.

She chews slowly, lifts her chin a little so he can watch her swallow. That's what he likes, right? That's what most of his list is about. The danger, the thrill, the excitement.

And Kate knows she can give him _just _what he needs.

"Your turn," she says then, nodding at the fish, giving him that smile that is not quite a smile, is just her lips pressed together, and an inviting nudge of her eyes.

He watches her for a moment, stunned, before he slowly shakes his head and picks up his own chopsticks.

"So hot," he breathes as he reaches for the fugu, sighs. It sounds like he's bracing himself, but she's not sure if it has more to do with the sashimi or with her.

Probably with her, because he doesn't show the slightest hesitation chewing and swallowing the thing. Her skin is tingling when he looks up at her, gives her an appreciative smile.

"Pretty tasty, huh?"

She's not sure she can find words, so she hums instead, tilts her head as she watches him.

Pretty tasty, yeah.

* * *

><p>She doesn't stop toying with him all through dinner. He wishes she would, so he could swallow without choking. The waiter has gone from looking concerned to looking appalled, as if Castle is a heathen in the house of Epicurus, staining the restaurant's good name with his constant gagging.<p>

Castle is pretty sure this has been the most inelegant meal he's ever managed to choke down, but it's all because of _her._

She just won't stop.

She switched sides in the booth so that now she presses up against him; she's using her left hand to hold the chopsticks (a feat of epic proportions; he feels entirely unequal to the grace that is Kate Beckett). She eats precisely, neatly, not delicate or dainty, but enough, and efficiently, as if she's on a mission.

Every time she moves, she moves against him. Every time she breathes, he feels her chest rise and fall. Every time she takes a sip of water or sake, she replaces her hand on his thigh and strokes her thumb over his knee like it's the most natural and easy thing in the world.

So _yes,_ he's having trouble swallowing.

He needs to turn the tables, bring about a role reversal here, because he will not, _absolutely not_ survive this night if she keeps touching him like that.

When the miso soup arrives, they are given spoons and he feels like now is the time, the only time, to make his move. Leave his mark on her like she has on him.

He lets his left hand fall to his lap, squeeze her fingers briefly, and then he trails up her forearm to her elbow, strokes the soft spot where her arm bends.

She gives him a slow, predatory look from beneath those lashes, but no - not-uh - he isn't the prey here. It's her.

She just doesn't know it yet.

* * *

><p>Kate senses the moment it changes for him, the moment he decides to take back the night.<p>

He stops fidgeting, stops swallowing hard, stops gingerly layering fish in his mouth like he's not sure what will happen.

He stops being nervous. It's like a switch has been flipped.

And while she thoroughly enjoys making him nervous, she finds this side of him, this purposeful and daring and clever side of him, she finds it downright thrilling.

His thumb tracing designs into her arm, over her elbow, her bicep, skirting the outside of her breast through the thin material of her dress. He looks at her while he does it too, as if in challenge, and while she would normally slide her fingers a little higher on his thigh, accept the challenge, at the moment, she's not sure she can move to save her life.

Waves of arousal suffuse her body, tingling and alive, as he only barely touches her. He leans in, satisfaction so smug in his eyes, and he places an open-mouthed kiss to her neck - all too brief, all too good - before he goes back to the soup.

_Soup._

Kate keeps her eyes forward, realizes her hand is clutching his knee in a death grip, her voice gone. She's breathless, and pleasantly buzzing, and she wonders if - just maybe - the fish really will kill her.

Or he will. One of the two.

So maybe they're just alike. She wants thrilling and dangerous as much as he does.

But she doesn't want to swim with sharks to get it; she just wants him.

* * *

><p>Castle doesn't want to leave.<p>

The food is all finished, the bill is paid - she wouldn't let him - and most customers have gone already; only he and Kate remain in this part of the restaurant, sides still brushing as they lean back into the seat, the lights subdued, the cool caress of the water features in his ear.

He wants to stay like this.

Indefinitely.

But then Kate's fingers curl around his thigh and she smiles at him, tender, a little wistful maybe. "Come on, Castle. Wouldn't want to bring you home after curfew."

He gives a startled, somewhat breathless laugh - all this touching is getting to him - as he remembers. "We don't have to abide by Alexis's rules, you know." _Stay with me. Just a little longer._

"Hmm," she says, but she's moving away, and he feels the loss of warmth keenly. Of course, it's not just warmth. But when he follows her, the look she levels on him, bright and soft, completely makes up for it.

"I think they're good rules, Castle. I'm gonna stick to them."

The rules his daughter made. His heart pounds in his chest, torn between rebellion and adoration. Not long before adoration wins.

"And," she adds, brushing a hand to his arm, "the waiters are starting to look at us funny."

He follows her gaze, and the little cluster of waiters hastily looks away. But he can tell she's right. Eh. They probably want to go home, too.

"Okay," he surrenders with a sigh, shrugging on his jacket. "Guess it's time to go."

Kate reaches out for the lapels, smoothes them, her hands lingering on his chest for a tad too long. "Share a cab with me?"

So he's not the only one having trouble to let go. He smiles, catches her fingers as she drops them, stroking her palm. "Sure, Kate."

He loves the way she blushes when he says her name like that.

* * *

><p>Even in the cab, Kate Beckett cannot seem to stay away from him. It's honestly bordering on embarrassing, as if she were glued to his side; of course, Castle doesn't complain - why would he? - but to herself, since she's always been a strong, self-sufficient, independent woman, this is-<p>

Yes. Mortifying.

Well. Maybe mortifying is a little extreme. So what if she likes his profile outlined by the city lights, his fingers tangled with hers, the heat of his shoulder against her cheek? She can feel him humming too, a low tune that she doesn't recognize, and the sensations well up inside her, fill her up, so good - more happiness than she knows what to do with.

She closes her eyes and shifts her face, pressing her forehead into the fabric of his jacket. She doesn't want him to think she's breathing him in, but. She kinda is.

Mmm. Castle.

"Hey, Kate?"

No. She doesn't want to move. "Hmm?" she answers, lifting a lazy lid to take a look at him.

He seems...worried. Like he's trying to hide it from her, trying not to let it bloom into full-panic mode, but it's not really working. She lifts her head from his shoulder, peers at him. "What?"

"I'm feeling a little - queasy. And hot."

Queas- oh. _Oh._

It's all she can do not to burst out laughing in his face. _Hold it together, Beckett._

"Oh?" she says, giving him her best innocent look, hoping the darkness will help.

He wavers for a second, then shakes his head, obviously trying to man up. "I'm sure it's nothing."

She presses her lips together. Tight.

"But if it was something," he lets out in a rush, seems unable to help it, "if - you know, in the very unlikely event that I did get food poisoning, well-"

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for his conclusion.

"Maybe you should be kissing me right now. In case, well. In case you never get the chance again. I wouldn't want you living a life weighed down by regrets, Kate."

She finds herself laughing, the sound bubbling on her lips, sweet and delicious, and then he's kissing her, his palm cradling the back of her neck, his smile wide and pleased against her mouth. She hums into his lips, feels him shift so he can come closer, press himself to her; she cannot find it in her to deny him.

Although she knows he's not dying.

She slides her arms around his neck and meets his tongue with hers, a moist, luscious glide that elicits a groan from him, leaves her wanting more; he pushes her against the seat and she arches, can't help it, her body seeking his. Instinctive and needy.

She contains it as best as she can, only allowing herself one more sip, one more taste of him before she splays her hands on his chest, gently pushes back. He protests, makes a child-like sound of frustration, so adorable that she has to bite her lip, keep the grin in.

She's not sure it works too well.

"You're not poisoned, Castle," she says, laughing a little, trying to cover the unsteadiness of her voice.

"How do you know?" he gasps dramatically. "I could be dying right now, Beckett-"

"No, you couldn't. The restaurant we were at - the blowfish they serve is non-poisonous. It's engineered that way."

His mouth drops. He stares at her. There's too little light for her to make out the emotions in his eyes, but she settles back and waits, completely unrepentant, confident that he'll come around.

"You - you tricked me," he says, sounding vaguely indignant. "You told me - and then when you ate it -"

She smirks, lets him see. Yep. She put on a pretty good show.

"Kate Beckett," he chides, but now his voice is different, less shocked, a lot more arousal to it. Ah. Harder to resist as well.

"Well, you did say we could cheat," she points out. "And I said I wanted to do more life-friendly stuff, didn't I?"

He grins, slow, dangerous. "Didn't want to let me risk my life?" he asks seductively.

"No," she breathes, not sure why she's answering his teasing with bald honesty. "Can't lose you to a stupid fish, can I?"

Not when he's survived a few bullets, a freezer, a nuclear bomb-

His lips on hers cut off her mental list. He works them gently, a raw, tender, meaningful kiss, and she finds herself gripping his shoulders, needing something to hold on to.

"I love you," he murmurs against her mouth, and she draws a trembling breath, caught thoroughly unawares, even though really she should have-

Castle backs away a little, sighs as he rests his forehead to hers. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't-"

"No," she cuts him off, her fingertips at his mouth, pushing the apology back, refusing it. "No, Castle, I - me too. I-" _come on, Kate, say it, say the words_ - "I love you too," she pants finally, exhausted, triumphant, breathless.

She's struck him silent, his lips parted against her palm; he regards her for a long time, emotion shimmering in his eyes.

"Kate..."

And then the cab stops at his place, the driver grunting at them. "We're here."

She chokes on a laugh, the sound strangled in her throat; Castle closes his eyes, shakes his head in disbelief. "Come _on_."

But it's good. Better this way. She pushes on his chest, slightly too enthusiastic at the prospect of being alone, stumbling under the force of it. "Go. Go, Castle."

"Kate."

"Alexis is waiting. Go on."

He catches her hands, kisses them, again and again.

No, no, this is not good - this is making her want to come up with him. No. She shoves on him, forces him out of the car, then closes the door on him. He leans in the window, rolled down to let in the warm night air, and he whispers against her skin, "God, you're killing me, Kate."

She shivers, turns her face for a quick brush of his lips, then leans back in the seat.

"Go home to your daughter, Castle."


	5. Chapter 5

_40. Find out what the island in Lost really is._

* * *

><p>She's ashamed to say that this show . . . it's lost her. No pun intended.<p>

"All right," she whispers, biting on her bottom lip. "I don't understand. Why is that woman on the radio speaking in French?"

Castle growls at her, reaching over to squeeze her knee. "What did I say about asking questions while the show is on?"

She pinches the skin at his waist, making him yelp on a laugh, rubbing his side and squirming away from her. She scoots closer on the couch, crowding into him, her fingers searching for the fleshy part - the love handles. She likes those.

"Kate. Stop. Wait. No fair, this is the part I wanted you to pay attention to," he gasps, snagging her fingers with his hand, crunching her bones together.

She laughs at him, presses her lips together to keep the noise down since it's so late and both Martha and Alexis are home. She and Castle decided tonight to start watching Lost, certain their combined theorizing could figure out the truth of this mysterious island, and he was appalled to find out that she'd never watched it.

It's on his list, of course. Otherwise, he'd never get her to sit down and do this.

"Okay, wait. Let me rewind." Castle leans past her and plucks the remote off the side table, then leans back, his body crowding hers on the black couch in his study. Or maybe it's hers that's crowding. She's not sure anymore. Not sure how it got to this so fast - so easily.

One date and now she wants to touch him, wants to be right here.

As he settles in beside her, Kate pulls her knees up onto the couch and turns into him, her cheek against his shoulder. He still startles when she touches him, goes so very still, as if he doesn't want to scare her away. It's not the best feeling in the world, knowing that she's made him so wary of driving her away. But-

But now his arm hooks around her knees, his elbow pressed against her stomach as he rewinds the episode a few scenes. She curls her arm around his and strokes the inside of his bicep, just at the hem of his tshirt, the skin there soft and vulnerable.

He gives a long sigh and plays the show, the survivors on their mysterious island, searching for a beacon or signal or something. They have a radio; they're picking up a signal? She's paying more attention to the way his skin feels under her fingertips.

Kate turns her head and wriggles deeper into his couch, closing her eyes for just a moment. Their case ended late; they were too wired to go straight to bed - or so they told each other. Honestly, all she wants to do is sleep for ten hours, but going home would mean going home alone.

So she came with him instead.

"It's eleven-thirty," she whispers.

He huffs, pauses the show. "And we will never get through this before curfew if you keep talking."

She laughs at that, surprised at his vehemence, a little spark of rebellion igniting. "But if we're both in the loft, then we're not technically breaking curfew, are we?"

"I like your devious mind, Kate Beckett," he chuckles, his broad thumb sweeping across her raised knee.

"But you don't like my questions," she shoots back.

"I do not. Now hush so you can listen. The radio signal is in French and I want to see if you can translate it."

"Ohhh, you didn't say that before," she says, nudging into him with her shoulder. "Okay, play it again. Got my attention."

"You gonna be good?"

"I can't make any promises," she mutters, rolling her eyes at him. Melodramatic man.

"Wait a second," he exclaims, clutching her knee. "You _better_ be making me promises. All kinds of promises. That's what this is-"

She laughs at him, shoving on his shoulder. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you," she says. "Now are you going to let me watch this show or not? Because we'll never get through all six seasons if you stop to chide me-"

"Chide? _Chide?_" He laughs at her, his lips turning up into that adorable half-grin. His face has healed completely from the car wreck, scabs are gone, bruises healed, but he still does that crooked smile; it's become habit. She reaches up, almost without thinking, brushes her fingertips over the unsmiling side.

He stops laughing, watching her. She can't help trailing down his neck to the place along his collar where the seatbelt cut into him, the bruise gone, the skin smooth. He's watching her as she studies him, but the television is playing. She hears the message in French - the distress call:

_"Si qui que ce soit puisse entendre ceci, ils sont morts-_"

Kate laughs, startles back, her head turning to the screen. "That's terrible French. Did they not have anyone fluent?"

He huffs. "But what did she say?"

It repeats again, slightly different for this iteration.

"Oh. Weird. Who's dead? Who's this French woman?"

Castle chuckles and suddenly his lips are teasing her jaw, making her skin flush and her awareness snap back to him.

"I told you that you'd love this show," he murmurs, his voice low and rough in her ear.

She shivers and slides her eyes to look at him. Adoration lines his face, limns his eyes.

"Yeah," she says quietly, wants to make sure he understands, is paying attention. "It's got me. You were right. I just - had to give it a chance."

* * *

><p>"No," she whines pitifully, dragging her hand away from his.<p>

Castle snags it back, tugging her closer. It's cold out on the sidewalk; two off-duty Vice detectives pass them, giving Beckett looks, but she doesn't seem to notice. Or she doesn't care. Either way, bodes well for them.

"I'm so tired, Castle," she says, shaking his hand, trying to dislodge him, but it's rather half-hearted. The lights from the One-Two make her hair look almost blonde. Has she been highlighting it? Is it the time he's made them spend in the sun?

"Just one episode," he murmurs, lacing his fingers through hers.

She ducks her head, leans closer, swaying on her heels; he catches her by the waist with his free hand, knows he really should let her go. But.

"It's the season two premiere. Remember? The light, the hatch-"

Kate hums and lifts her eyes to his, interest sparking.

"You know you want to-"

"I'm gonna fall asleep. And then we'll get in trouble."

"I'll wake you up."

"Before your daughter finds me on the couch?"

"She wasn't really mad, you know."

"But I promised, Castle. What does that say that I can't even get my ass off your couch and go home?"

"It says you didn't mean to sleep over. You meant to go home. You were on the couch. I didn't want you to drive home by that point."

"You're not making your case here," she mutters, but she does step closer, lays her cheek against his shoulder, almost having to lean over to do it in those heels.

He lifts his hand from her waist and trails it up her side, feels her shiver. "I want you to come home with me. Watch some tv, let me watch you fall asleep against my shoulder-"

"And then you'll wake me up. You have to wake me up."

"Mm," he agrees, knowing he's not really agreeing. She's a stickler for the rules, but Alexis isn't. When Kate fell asleep at the loft last week, Castle left her on the couch in his study, the projection screen still up, thinking he'd wake early and then kiss her out of sleep, let her go home in the morning. But Alexis came downstairs first, came looking for him. She was fine; she'd made their coffee.

"Promise me," Kate says suddenly, nudging him with her chest, bumping into him. "Promise you'll wake me up when it's time to go. No sleepovers."

"I'll wake you," he sighs, giving in.

She smiles up at him, mouth sly and wide, a shot of adrenaline straight into his heart. Castle grins back, but suddenly she's pressing that smile into his mouth, her teeth teasing his bottom lip before she pulls back.

"Good answer," she says softly. "Now take me home."

* * *

><p>It's Saturday afternoon, but the bullpen is buzzing with life; Kate is standing at the door, adrift, watching the man she just ripped a confession from be taken away. It's this strange, floating moment of quiet when she can take silent satisfaction in a job well done, but it's always tinged with bitterness too, because she's not naive enough to believe the evidence she's gathered will be enough.<p>

Her mother was a lawyer, and Kate herself has been a witness in court enough times to know how things work, how much of the verdict actually depends on the lawyers' talent for speeches.

It's hard not to feel discouraged sometimes.

"Don't wanna do paperwork?" a smiling voice asks in her ear. She shivers, part surprise, part delight at the soft, tender tone of the words, and she turns to him, resisting the urge to rest her forehead to his cheek.

She still hasn't told Gates anything about her and Castle - just the thought of it makes her chest swell in revolt - and so she's trying not to let it show too much.

It's harder than she thought, keeping herself from beaming when he brings her coffee, folding her fingers so they won't go wandering into his hair - she doesn't trust herself with him nearby, because so much of her response is instinctive. The looks, the touches come to life before she's even aware of them.

It's dangerous.

"Mmm, not really," she admits, looking up at him, and she feels lighter already, lit up inside by the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth in the curve of his mouth.

It's amazing, how much he can do to her when they're not even touching.

"Do you want to go home, build a fort and watch five episodes of Lost?"

He arches a _You know you want to_ eyebrow; Kate presses her lips together, tries to keep the laugh in.

And he said _home_.

Her heart softens, purrs at the word. She realizes with some surprise that yes, she does want that; she wants to curl up in the sheets with him, nestled into his larger frame, and watch that stupidly addictive show.

"Yeah," she says.

There's this burst of unexpected joy in his eyes, bright and blue, and he crowds her a little, steps closer. She bites her lip and glances at Gates's office, just to be sure. The blinds are down, but that doesn't mean the woman can't come striding out any minute.

"Can you?" Castle is asking, looking hopeful and expectant and entirely too adorable for his own good. "Can you actually decide to go home now and leave the paperwork for tomorrow?"

She rolls her eyes. "Are you really asking me that?"

"Hmm. No, I guess not. I meant _will_. Not _can._"

He sends a look across the bullpen - at least he's being careful too - and leans in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Her treacherous body arches in pleasure.

"Will you go home with me, Kate?"

She closes her eyes, just for a second, tries to savor the moment, engrave it in her memory. It's Saturday afternoon and she's got time, plenty of time, but instead of wanting to do her paperwork so she's on top of things, so she's ready for the next case - instead of being serious and a good detective - all she wants to do is go home with Castle and curl up in front of his TV, his arm around her.

_We could always just cuddle, Castle_. Her lips twist with a smile.

"I'll get my things," she whispers against his cheek, and she's pleased that she's not the only one shivering.

* * *

><p>He comes out of the bedroom triumphant; he found a towel that would fit and one for her too. Lost is still playing on the projection screen in his study; Kate is tucking the last blanket into the top shelf of the bookcase. She gets down off the chair as he approaches.<p>

"Here," he says, unfurling the towel in front of her. They've spent the last two hours slowly converting every inch of space into a maze of tunnels and hideouts framed in blankets, towels, sheets, and pillows.

The most awesomest fort _of all time_.

He shakes the towel in front of her, making it dance, grinning.

"I'd look ridiculous. Just like you look ridiculous, Castle," she says, eyeing him distastefully.

"No way. It's totally cool." He shrugs his shoulders under his cape-robe thing. "King of the Castle. King of Castle Blanket Fort."

"You're _seriously_ ridiculous," she mutters. "And I'm not wearing that."

He holds up the beach towel again, shakes it in front of him. "But it's even purple. The color of royalty. And your favorite. What's the problem?"

"I'm not 5 years old maybe?"

"No, but you could be. For a little while." He wriggles his eyebrows at her and closes in, trying to plan out how best to throw the royal robe over her shoulders. Queen for a day. Sounds terrible, actually. Maybe she has a point?

She lifts a hand and curls it around the knot at his throat (he had to safety pin it together too), her grip tight. "Castle," she says slowly, and suddenly all the scorn has disappeared from her eyes; they burn. "I was thinking I'd rather we be. . .far more adult. The things I want to do are entirely inappropriate for five year olds."

He gulps, can feel her knuckles against his adam's apple, can see the flame in her eyes. He reaches up and works at the safety pins; she helps, guiding his fingers, letting the towel slide off his back and fall to the floor.

"Much better," she says, lifting her lips into a suggestive smile that curls his insides.

"What about . . .the blanket fort?" he says, can't take his eyes off her long enough to scan their setup. On screen, someone is running dizzedly through the jungle.

"I like the fort. I helped make it. But I don't want to play-act anymore, Castle."

Oh. Oh that sounds good.

He leans in and brushes his mouth at her cheekbone. "Can we not play-act. . .in the fort?"

She hums and turns her head into him; he feels her fingers at his waist, lightly, the way she homes in on his belt, tugging him closer. "Of course. That's what it's for."

"Sneaking in some-"

"Cuddling?" she finishes, and he looks down to see her lips in a smirk.

"Get in then," he says back, nudging her towards one of the last open spaces in the study, right in front of the screen. A carefully constructed bed consiting of an air mattress (he did that while she was in the living room making a maze), pillows from his bed, and the down comforter that he uses in the winter.

She turns, breaking off from him, and eyes the nest he's made. "Seems like you didn't want to be five anyway," she says, throwing him a little look over her shoulder that has him crowding against her back and pushing her down.

* * *

><p>Kate laughs against his shoulder, rewinds the scene one more time. How many is this? Five or so. Castle is still trailing his fingers at her side, and even though that's the number one cause of her intense distraction, there is no way she's telling him to stop.<p>

"Kate, maybe we'd do better if I just summarized what happens here and-"

"No. I'm supposed to be forming my own opinion based on the evidence at hand-"

"I've got evidence at hand," he mutters, his mouth at that spot on her neck, making her heart thud harder.

"This is important," she says, not moving away, her eyes flickering from the screen to the angle of his head at her neck. "The tail section of the plane-"

His hand shifts to squeeze. "Tail section. Uh-huh. I like your-"

She presses a hot kiss into his mouth, rolling into him, feels him encircle her with both arms as if to keep her there. The slide of his tongue into her mouth has her forgetting entirely about the show, entirely how to breathe, and his fingers trail hot flames up her spine.

Bare. Bare spine. Bare skin - his hands under shirt, oh so good-

He lifts her away and pants, eyes tumultuous under her. "Slow down," he struggles out.

She nods, realizes she's petting his lips with her fingers, curls her hand into a fist at his chest.

"Alexis will be home any moment," he adds. "Lanie lets her leave early on Saturdays."

She shifts off of him, laying her head to his shoulder and breathing him in, feeling her heart beat hard against the air mattress, rocking them both.

"Sorry," he grumbles.

She laughs and lifts her head. "Don't be sorry. I'm the one who wants to follow the rules."

"True. You should be apologizing."

"I won't though," she murmurs and has to avert her eyes, stop gazing at his mouth. It's entirely too enticing. "Plus it's your fault. You made us a _bed_, Castle. What were you thinking?"

"Thinking about this right here." He wriggles his eyebrows and rolls onto his side to face her, his hand falling to her back. She watches him from the corner of her eye, his other arm pillowing her head, her body curled inward.

It feels good, a less sharp arousal, but still there. Heavy. Settled over her like - like a blanket. Home.

"Kate?" He leans in, so it's not really a question at all, and his mouth brushes her forehead, her temple, the line of her cheek. "I love you."

She lifts a hand and holds on to him, fist in his shirt to keep him there, can't understand why it's still so hard, why it feels like talking around the ragged and bloodied scramble of her heart.

It's only when his lips press lightly to her mouth that she can even open her eyes, kissed awake, no longer cursed.

"Castle," she murmurs against his touch. "I do love you. I do."

"Hold you to that promise," he breathes.

She feels him smile.

"Though _I do_ comes later. Number fifty, I think."

* * *

><p>"It's this way," she says, nudging on his rear end to get him to crawl forward. "I promise. I built this part, remember?"<p>

"But these are my blankets and sheets, they're familiar, and I'm totally certain we've been this way before."

"Yeah, when we made the ice cream raid on your freezer," she says, jamming her shoulder into his ass. "Come on. Move it or lose it."

"What exactly would I be losing?"

"Castle," she grunts, and then decides he's asked for it. Kate slithers under him as he's on his hands and knees inside the maze of blankets making up his living room, inserts a foot between his legs just because she can, and pushes her way ahead of him.

Let him stare at her ass for a while.

"Beckett," he breathes out. She can't look back now - all hope would be lost.

"Keep moving, soldier," she says, ignoring the heat of his gaze on her.

"I'd rather-"

"I have a don't ask, don't tell policy, Castle. And I ain't asking. Come on. I want to see what happens next."

"I _know_ what happens next." Ah, not the show then.

She forced herself to stop making out with him long enough to cool down, and of course, that stupid television show sucked her right down into the mystery. The island has to be some crazy government experiment.

"The laptop is sooo heavy," he whines.

"No, it's not. You just want me to turn around. Not happening."

They went searching for his laptop because he said there are cool websites that have easter eggs and hidden clues. She likes clues. He keeps mentioning the Oceanic Flight 815 seating chart and something about the numbers, and seriously - _seriously_ - how was she not watching this show when it came out?

"Kate-"

"No. I want to cross this off your list sometime this year, Castle."

"Oh," he says, offering a long sigh after that. "Yeah. Closer to - yeah."

Closer to. . .? She throws him a glance over her shoulder, and even though they're both crawling through a darkened tunnel made of a red blanket and his navy sheets, she can see the yearning on his face.

Closer to fifty.

Kate stops, turns around, presses her mouth against his in a rush of feeling, sloppy and breathless and hard.

She pulls back, sinking back on her heels, her head skimming the top of the bedsheet. "We'll get there."

He nods.

"In the meantime, I'll take the laptop back to your study if you'll go find the list?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We need to cross off the fort."

Castle smiles at her, leans in to kiss her, more tender, more pleased. "And we can strike through number forty too, at least partway. Since you've got a theory."

She laughs softly. "I do. Even though you're doing an admirable job of thoroughly distracting me."

"I like distracting you."

She leans into him in the close space of the fort, slides her palm up his chest to curl her fingers around his neck. "I like you distracting me too. Want to distract me some more?"

"Yeah," he breathes out, his mouth already seeking hers, slow and heady and dizzying.

The laptop clatters to the floor and she pulls from him, breathing shallowly, cradling his cheek with a hand. His forehead rests to hers as he gulps in air.

"Laptop," she says.

"List," he mutters.

"Go."

"Can't."

"In a moment?"

"In a long moment."

So she rests there, against him, her heart wild, and wonders why in the world she's agreed to Alexis's rules.

His heart beats against hers, equally frenetic, and it causes her to remember-

Because she doesn't want to break his heart.

* * *

><p><em>25. Convert entire apartment into blanket fort.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_12. Skydive_

* * *

><p>"Where are you taking me?" he asks again.<p>

She smirks inwardly. "You'll see."

"This could be considered kidnapping. Federal crime if you cross into New Jersey, Beckett."

"Do you want me to blindfold you again? No? Then shut it."

"I might actually go for cuffs?"

She shoots him a look and realizes he might actually be serious about that. "No sleepovers, Castle."

"You wouldn't technically _have_ to sleep over for that." He must see the look on her face. "I'm just saying."

"I want to do this first."

"And then do me?"

She laughs, bites her bottom lip to hold back that act of usurpation. She should really not encourage him. It's bad enough that she has to keep saying no. Even worse when she gives in to him and then makes _him_ have to say no. _Slow down. My daughter's going to walk in on us._

"If you survive this," she says, knows he's crazy with curiosity.

He lifts an eyebrow, makes a show of checking the time on his phone. "Kate Beckett. Detective Kate Beckett, are you kidnapping me on police time to _cross off an item on my list?_"

"Perhaps."

"There's no body?"

"Oh, there's a body. Both our bodies."

"That should sound hot, but it actually just scares me."

"Good. Be scared, Castle."

* * *

><p>"Skydive Long Island. Sky. Dive. Long. Island."<p>

She rolls her eyes at him, but he SO DOES NOT CARE. He just had a thought in all capital letters because he really so does not care and because she has just pulled into the parking lot at SKYDIVE LO - (sorry, he'll hush.)

"Stop hyperventilating, Castle."

"I just - this is - oh my-"

"Breathe," she says, and maybe she was going for sardonic but it comes off as amused and sexy and a little bit tender, like she's in love with him, all of him, even the stupid and goofy parts of him that seriously want to just JUMP out of a plane at thirteen thousand feet and THIS is the real Mile High Club.

"Castle."

"Yeah," he says and gasps out the breath he was holding, sucks it back in. Maybe she will kiss him up there?

"You might want to unbuckle your seatbelt. Get out of the car." She's already opened her door, gotten out. He fumbles to follow, his knee hitting the arm rest as he moves too quickly, tripping over the frame of her car as he gets out.

The ground facilities aren't anything special, just a low building with a tower at one end, a few hangars back off to the right, runways. The sign on the top of the welcome center is bright yellow, and as she leads him towards the front doors, he can see glossy full-length posters of skydives; the blue of the sky has faded, but not the exhilaration on the jumpers' faces.

Oh, that's gonna be him. In like - an hour? Two? How long does this take?

"Have you ever jumped before?" he asks, hearing the breathless wonder in his voice, and he SO can't help it.

"Nope. Both virgins here, Castle."

"Okay, that was incredibly hot. And dirty. And I think you're doing it to me on purpose?"

"Is that a question?"

"No. Keep doing it. I'm good with you being hot. And dirty." He can't even look at her, he's so taken in by everything - all the details he wants to memorize for later, the open waiting area and the reception desk and the hallway leading back to what must be the anteroom to Heaven. With a capital H.

Yeah. Heaven.

* * *

><p>They have to watch a twenty minute safety video that is just beyond boring - how can a video about skydiving be boring? But it is. He squirms in the darkness of the tiny theatre, his shoes sticking to the concrete floor, while Kate keeps poking his side and hissing at him to pay attention.<p>

Really. It's a tandem jump. He's not the one who controls stuff - it's mostly out of his hands. Yeah, he'll pull the chute, but if he forgets, the guy strapped to his back will do it for him.

Ew. The guy strapped to his back. Huh. Well-

Safety protocol, procedures, how to jump, bend your knees, blah, blah, blah-

Oooh, lights are up!

He rockets to his feet. "Let's do this!"

"All right ladies and gentlemen, let's go over the proper way to jump."

Castle groans and sinks back down to his seat. Really? Again?

* * *

><p>He signs his release form with a flourish and gives it back to the guy with the clipboard, then turns around to find Kate getting talked up by a punk guy with blonde spiky hair. The blonde is smiling at her, all sex-appeal and familiarity, touching her elbow as he says something, and Castle takes that one step closer to bring himself to her side.<p>

The guy lifts a lazy look to him, entirely too confident. "Just telling your girl here that I know her from somewhere."

"Oh yeah?" Castle says, bristling, hoping it shows. The guy has this accent too, which is really not fair.

"Oh yeah," the guy says, voice dropping a couple octaves. Deeper than Castle's can go. Damn it.

"I don't think you do," Kate says politely. "Castle, we need to get our jumpsuits on. See over there? Harness too, when we get assigned a tandem-"

The guy snaps his fingers, looks between them. "Oh. That's it. Yeah. Okay. Hey, Mum!" he yells out, turning his body but reaching out and keeping Kate there. "Mum. _Joan._"

The woman, Joan apparently, lifts her head from the demonstration she's being given and glares at her son, then comes over with her jumpsuit already on, harness belted up, ready to go. She has her hands on her hips, eyes only for her son, but then she takes a moment to look at them, and she grins.

"Oh, Richard Castle." She shoots her hand out to shake his, and he does, feeling totally blindsided by this random recognition. He seriously isn't this famous.

"I knew I'd seen you before," the son says. "You're the inspector - the cop."

"Beckett," Kate says, then shakes her head. "Kate Beckett."

"Shaken not stirred," the guy grins. "I'm Branson. Sam Branson."

Castle rolls his eyes, so does the guy's mom, who honestly can't be much older than him, really, so how old is the guy - _the kid_? She's smiling up at Castle, patting his hand with one of hers. "I'm Joan. Such a pleasure to finally meet you. I've loved your books for years, almost since the beginning, and I keep meaning to look you up, let you know."

Castle shares a look with Kate, glances back to the woman. "Yeah, well, I read all my fanmail. Especially the creepy ones. Good fodder for books."

She laughs at that, all poise and graciousness, and releases his hand. "I bet. Well, don't worry, I wasn't thinking creepy fanmail. But this is far more memorable - Richard Castle on his skydive. Is it your first?"

"Yeah," he says, still can't figure out how she's so . . . at ease. Like she does this every day. "Kate's too."

"Oh, cute. Mine too, if you can believe that. Late Christmas present from my guys."

Sam is grinning, all of that seductive and worldly smile gone now, just a guy taking his mom out for a skydive. So very weird.

And why wouldn't they believe it's her first? It's not _that_ odd. Most people don't jump out of airplanes, right?

"Good to meet you, Mr. Castle. And you as well, Detective. Love the books."

"Well, thank you. I guess we'll see you up there," he replies, pointing towards the sky.

Sam laughs. "Not this time, mate. We rented out a plane."

"Come on, Sam. Don't be flashy." She brushes her hand across her son's forearm, turns her eyes to Castle. "But I bet we'll see you on the ground afterwards. We can talk more then." She goes back to the instructor she was talking with earlier, and all three leave the jump room.

Castle stands there, not sure what that was about.

Sam reappears after only a moment, looking smug at Castle's slack-jawed reaction, and the kid gives them both a deadly-charming smile. "Look. Mum would never presume, but if you guys are free this summer, you should really come out to the island. Her birthday is in June - she'd love to see you, get a chance to talk books."

"Ahh," he stalls. What the heck? The island? "I don't think-"

Kate elbows him hard and when he looks over at her, she's mouthing something, her eyes in narrow slits. What is she saying? Twenty-two what?

Sam is still talking, something about how he doesn't read (oh, that really endears him to Castle, oh yeah), but he'd appreciate their staying for a few days for his mother's sake. "But no pressure, man. I'll talk with our guy, and if you decide to come, your name's on a list. Both of you. Won't even dig on your chick, promise."

Haha, so funny.

Sam cocks a finger at them and grins again, strolls over to the doorway his mother exited through. Castle huffs and glances over at Kate - his chick - and she's gaping at him.

"What?"

She shoves on his shoulder. "Castle."

"What?"

"That was Richard Branson's wife and son."

"What?" he gasps, all the blood leaving his body.

Richard Branson?

"Hey now, we got a fainter!" An instructor is rushing to his side, grabbing him by the arm. "Steady up there, son. Don't faint on us 'fore we even get to the plane."

* * *

><p>Apparently, Castle learns, there are three types of jump instructors.<p>

There's the relaxed, funny, non-chalant guy who gets assigned to Kate; he's dressed in cargo shorts and a Cubs tshirt, sneakers that look entirely too flimsy (Castle believes) for jumping out of airplanes. The guy holds out the harness to her and she steps into it, then he slides on his own harness, and they're good.

Castle, fortunately, does _not_ get the overly-jokey guy, though either. The one who rushed over to him and called him a 'fainter' and then hammed it up for the whole crowd. Overly-jokey keeps circling Castle though, asking him if he's gonna puke, chuckling too loud with the ones who look nervous.

Wait. Does that mean Castle looks nervous?

No way. He is excited. He is pumped. (He may be a tad bit nervous, but not in a girly way.)

There was the entirely unlikely invitation from Sam Branson - what the hell? - and then well, there's just Kate, right? Kate. Who's not with the blonde guy or the guy from Robbery or the guy who saves people's lives in Africa, but with him - Rick Castle.

And yeah, she's gonna jump out of a plane with him. Or after him. Before him? "Hey, wait. I get to go first, right?" he says, hooking a finger through the straps of her harness, tugging her towards him.

She flashes him a roll of her eyes and opens her mouth, but Castle finally finds out the third kind of jump instructor.

The newbie.

"Hey, stay in line," his tandem partner says. "We follow the rules. We do this exactly like the video said."

Oh, yeah, he didn't watch the video? And uh. . .

"Just pay attention. Do you need me to go over it again?"

"No, no. I'm good," Castle says, waving the guy off.

"Here. You need to get into your harness, please." Newbie instructor hands it over, then gives him an appraising look. "You do know - I mean, you read the release form, right? There is a weight limit for tandem jumping-"

Castle gives the guy a glare and Kate giggles. She _giggles._ He has yet to produce a giggle from Detective Kate Beckett and a stupid comment about a weight limit is what gets her?

She smothers it, presses her lips together, but her eyes are shining. "I set this up," she tells his guy. Chad or something. "Don't worry. Even with both of you, you don't hit the weight limit."

Castle glances back over at Chad, and yeah, okay, he sees it now. Chad is taller than him and perhaps not as well-built as he is, but if there really is a weight concern, then yeah. He gets it. Kate, on the other hand, is with Mr. Cubs Tshirt who is shorter than her and supremely chilled out and lean as a runner.

Overly-Jokey floats around again, and an older woman with a nervous gesture that twists her lips stops him. "So, uh, they said if the parachute doesn't open, there's a back-up?"

OJ (ooh, yes, good name for him) gives a head bob, still grinning. "Yeah, yeah. And if the back-up doesn't open? Here's what you do."

Suddenly every eye in the room is on Overly Jokey, and he grows still and serious, giving the woman his full concentration.

Castle feels something coming, but he can't quite figure out-

"You press your palms together like this," OJ demonstrates. "Fingers pointing out like you're gonna dive into water. Yeah? And then you slowly rotate them up, towards the sky. And you pray."

Kate chuckles at that, the room devolves into laughter, and Castle sighs. But he can't help actually being amused.

And you pray. Yeah. Okay, if he weren't already ticked about the weight limit comment, he might have giggled at that too.

No, no. Not giggled. Chuckled manfully.

"Castle?" Kate nudges him.

Newbie is trying to get him to step into the harness, so he finally gives in, lets the guy (sigh) pull it up, fit it snugly. Whew. Snug for sure. Wow. Right there, huh? Snug at his crotch and that instructor's hand just-

Kate laughs again, meeting his eyes. "Are you at all paying attention to the safety lessons they keep giving us?"

"No," he grins back, lowering his voice and jerking as Newbie practically gives him a wedgie with the harness. "But don't tell my tandem partner that."

* * *

><p>Kate is so busy keeping an eye on Castle, making sure he's buckled all the straps correctly, checking that he's actually listened and *knows* how to jump - she doesn't have time to worry about herself.<p>

(Or about Richard Branson's son. Because seriously. Did that just happen?)

They are packed tightly into the plane, sitting on metal benches all in rows, awkwardly beside their assigned professional, no leg room, and she can't even imagine how they stand up and shuffle over to the still-closed door. Which she can't even see from back here.

There are fifteen first-time jumpers, so that means thirty harnessed together. She feels itchy with claustrophobia but her guy is cool and at ease, not even wearing a jumpsuit. When he introduced himself, his last name made her think he's a son of the owners. Apparently, he gets to do what he likes.

Unlike Castle's guy - poor kid must be doing his first jump as the professional. She wonders how many hours you have to log before they strap you to an idiot like Castle and shove you out of a plane.

Jeez.

There's stuff on Castle's list (what a punk, she thought when she read it the first time) that she has absolutely no idea how they will tackle. She memorized it just so they could take advantage of whatever natural opportunities might arise. But Branson's island? Yeah. She couldn't exactly see that happening.

Except, well.

Now it has.

They got *invited* without asking, without even hinting at it. It's just crazy. Mrs Branson is a fan of Castle's books, uh?

Kate bites her lip, tries to hold the smile in, knowing she'll sound hysterical if she lets herself laugh. Between Sam Branson and the skydive-

The plane levels out and then suddenly drops altitude, causing all of them to suddenly jerk to their feet with the motion of the plane.

"Well, that's handy," Castle mutters back to her.

She blinks and realizes the door has been pulled open and her heart is thudding and already the belly of the plane is emptying out.

Ninety seconds of freefall and then pull the parachute cord. Controlled descent to the target landing. Bend your knees, bend your knees-

"This is awesome," Castle says as he and his tandem buddy pull ahead of her.

The line is going fast. Cubs tshirt guy is at her back, neither pushing nor talking much but-

It takes Rick leaping out of the plane with a childish, delight-filled scream to make her realize that she's next.

She's next.

Kate Beckett takes the full measure of what she's about to do. She lets a long breath out, forgets about Branson's island, her partner already out there freefalling, the tandem jumper at her back, the line behind her. Her body is taut, poised at the edge of the opening, the sound of the plane's engines loud and thrumming and pulsing, pushing her to go.

The adrenaline breaks free in her veins, pure and beautiful and dizzying; Kate almost sways as she closes her eyes, opens them again to stare at the far away ground.

Oh.

Oh. This is _amazing_.

This-

This is why she became a cop and not a lawyer. Yes, there will be justice for her mother; she does this first and foremost to get Johanna Beckett's killer. But that's not all there is to it.

There's this - staring into the empty and wide abyss. The thrill, the risk. Same reason she got a tattoo when she was seventeen, why she went to Kiev, why she rides a motorcycle.

Kate Beckett loves the taste of danger on her tongue.

She pushes back a bubbling laugh at how similar she and Castle are - she would never, _ever_ have guessed that when she first met him - and then the guy is asking, "You ready?"

"Yes," Kate says, confident, determined.

She's ready.

She's finally ready.

She jumps.

* * *

><p>He feels all-powerful, the Earth spread at below him, gorgeous expanses of green and gold and brown, patchworked, punctuated with tiny dots that have to be trees. The wind lashes his face but he doesn't care, can't help the exhilarated, triumphant laugh that pours out of him.<p>

These ninety seconds of free fall are the best of his life.

Almost.

It's close to the moment they put Alexis in his arms and he didn't want to drop her, didn't want to fail her, didn't want to ruin her life because he already loved her so damn much and it scared the hell out of him-

It feels like that moment when Kate told him, _We're really doing this-_

Oh. . .Kate.

He tries to look around for her, but the guy at his back - Dan - tells him to hold still, stop squirming, so Castle obeys with a sigh. _Newbie. _But he keeps his eyes peeled - or well, the wind is doing a fine job of that, actually.

Castle realizes they fall slower - fractionally - when his arms and legs are all akimbo, so he messes around with that for a few seconds, curving his palms into the wind. And then two straight as sticks blurs slide down in front of him and past, down, and _it's Kate_ and her tandem guy has them both arrowed sharply through the blue sky and they are just _shooting down_ and oh man, that looks like crazy fun-

"No," gets yelled into his ear.

Damn. _Newbie._

He looks down after her and-

_Holy shit I am freefalling towards the earth. _

Oh God.

And then Newbie thumps him on the arm, indicating his 90 seconds are over.

He gets to open the parachute (_fun)_ but that completely breaks their speed, jerks them back so hard that the harness cuts into his crotch, and then he finds himself suspended in the air, a strange containment, a hand plucking him out of the sky and yet still drawn inexorably down.

He glances through his feet, feels Newbie trying to steer the parachute towards the ground. Every drag of air as the wind takes the chute also drags across the harness, pulling sharply at the straps tightening on his crotch.

Not that it hurts. It's just. Uncomfortable. But who cares? He is _falling to the earth._

Where is Kate? Has she landed already?

It's funny, how he needs her, needs to share every moment of his life with her (especially something as big, as exciting as this); turning to her is almost second nature now, not even something he does consciously. And to think that, five years ago, he didn't even know who Kate Beckett was.

It both sounds crazy and a little scary, if he's honest. How quickly she's wound her way around his heart, and he didn't even notice - was too busy trying to get to her, peek through the layers, try to understand how she worked.

How she could be so amazing without even trying.

And now?

Now he feels like he's known her all his life. Like she's always been there.

Waiting on the ground for him.

Okay, he's not usually _this _sappy - no matter what Kate says - but when it comes to her, when it comes to them, he always fumbles for a reason, for an explanation, and comes back empty-handed.

Because it's just. So good.

Too good to be chance, to be random. He doesn't _want _them to be random.

He wants it to be fate.

Holy crap, the earth is _speeding_ towards him.

"Are we supposed to be going this fast?" he shouts over the wind.

"Bend your knees!"

* * *

><p>He's not hurt. He's not.<p>

But when he gets to his feet, slowly, carefully, everything spins a little; his lungs are eagerly - too eagerly - drinking the air he's been denying them, and his knees feel wobbly, distant. Disconnected from his body.

Wow. Cool.

Really cool.

Castle only has a second of silence to savor it all, the fading rush of excitement, the delighted thud of his stomach, before Newbie is all over him.

"You okay? You alright? Take deep breaths, easy, yeah - do you want to sit down? You can sit down - let me just undo these straps-"

Rick grunts and waves the man off, assures him he's just fine; but Newbie won't stop hovering, won't stop shooting breathless, anxious questions at him, and Castle's pleasure is close to getting ruined.

Idiot.

A ripple of movement catches his eye and he turns, sees a slim figure waving at him from a distance. Oh. Kate. His whole body cants towards her, instinctively answering her silent call; he starts walking in that direction, ignores the protests of his guy, unclips his harness as he goes.

He's not going to wait. He's waited long enough.

When he gets closer, he can see that Kate is still talking to Cubs shirt; she runs a hand through her hair as she laughs, animated and gorgeous, her cheeks still flushed with the exertion, the _jump_.

Jealousy sparks in his guts, irrational and stupid, because he wants to be the one to cause her to be like this, so open, so light, her eyes free of the shadows that accompany her mother's case. But when she sees him, makes her way to him, her eyes are sparkling even brighter, and her mouth is parted into a wide and private smile, just for him and his alone, and he cannot resist.

He has to wrap himself around her, claim those smiling lips, the line of her neck, the arch of her back. Kate Beckett is _his_, and he's not above letting everybody know, whether it is Sam Branson or Cubs shirt.

Her body lifts into his and her arms wrap around his neck as she pushes her tongue into his mouth; he can tell the adrenaline is still buzzing in her veins just like in his, and he loves how dark she tastes, so sexy and adventurous.

Ah, he just loves her.

When she lets go of him, breathless, that beautiful, knowing look in her eyes tells him she knows exactly why he just kissed her.

She knows, and she's okay with it. Even his little bursts of possessiveness won't make her run.

"This," she says, and the smile is all over her face, dancing in her eyes, at the edge of her mouth. Her hands curl around his shoulders, draw him in close; she brushes her lips to his jaw. "This might be your best idea ever, Castle."

"Yeah?" He's not certain what she means - kissing her, being together, the skydiving - but he'll take it anyway, revel in it, the joy spilling out of her, all this love that swamps him, so much, so good that he can hardly breathe.

"Yeah," she murmurs, her face at his neck. He wants to look at her, but he also doesn't want to break the moment, so he holds still and waits, revering the feel of her in his arms.

"I like flying," she whispers, and oh, there are so many places he could go with that.

So many-

"I like flying too," he answers. And he knows she understands.

* * *

><p><em>22. Get invited to Richard Branson's private island.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**Bucket List**

* * *

><p>Rick Castle is so buzzed. He jumped out of an airplane and freefalled - fell? freefell? that sounds so wrong - he did some freefalling towards the earth at top speeds and it was simply and incredibly amazing.<p>

A-mazing.

And Kate went with him.

But she's not here now. Which stinks.

He can't sleep.

Castle prowls the apartment, going from study to bedroom to hallway to kitchen to living room to-

He's driving himself a little crazy with it too. He checks the time again - only one in the morning, not so bad - and then stalks back to his desk and snatches up his phone.

She wouldn't come home with him, and he's pretty sure if she had, he wouldn't be so restless and amped and jittery with adrenaline. Or well, it would be of a different sort? And he's totally used to that kind. Happens all the time.

He calls and she answers immediately, not a trace of sleepiness in her voice, for which he is both grateful and disappointed. She gives better answers when he's just woken her up.

"I can't sleep," he says, no greeting. Do they need it anymore?

"Me either," she sighs out, laughing a little on the end. "But guess what I have?"

"Huh? What?"

"Finnegan's Wake," she smirks - he can so hear it - right over the phone line.

"Ah, okay? Oh. Oh that's on my list, isn't it? Wait, why do you have that book?"

"Because it's on your list," she says, sounding rather eye-rollish over there. "Also, I thought, how hard could it be, really? And then I opened it up and - oh jeez, Castle - this book is impossible."

"Read it to me," he says impulsively, scooting back through the doorway and into bed again. "We can get past page five together this way."

"If you don't fall asleep on me."

"Too wired. Also, insert innuendo here, something about _on you_."

"Too lazy to even come up with your own innuendo. What is the world coming to?"

He laughs at that. "I could think of a few, if you like, but-"

"No, I'll pass. I'm pretty sure I know what you'd say. Predictable as you are."

He huffs out at her, tugging up his bedsheets and the comforter and suddenly wishing, so very badly, that she was there.

"Read to me, Kate," he murmurs, closing his eyes to at least picture it, pretend.

There's a moment of breathing silence that he likes, it's good, and then her dark, rich laughter spills out around him.

"You fantasizing about me, Castle?"

"Plead the fifth," he says, eyes opening slowly. "You gonna read?"

"I'm skipping the introduction," she warns.

"Oh yeah, intro doesn't count."

"I'll let you know when we make it to page six."

He laughs at that, pressing a palm over his eye, mind swirling with how good that sounds, how it feels right. "If you and I make it to Page Six, Kate, it'll be a miracle."

She must get it, understand what he's saying, because her voice drops, some of the mirth disappears for seriousness. "Is that really in question? That we'll make it."

He sucks in a breath and for the first time, he thinks maybe she really is as committed to this as he's hoped. "Not in question," he amends. "Not at all."

"No need for miracles, partner," she says softly. "Just some sleep. So let me start."

* * *

><p>"These are not words," she grumbles again.<p>

"Keep reading."

"You just want to make fun of the way I'm pronouncing this garbled-"

"Read, read, read. Stop putting it off. I'm almost tired."

"No, you're not," she shoots back. "It's totally making you restless. I can tell by your voice."

"Yeah? You can?" Why does that please him so much? Just that she knows. Or maybe that it sounds like she pays just as much attention to him as he does to her.

"I can," she murmurs. "So let's get past page five and then call it quits. I hate this book."

He laughs, but quiets when she resumes reading.

"Rot a peck of pa's malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface. . ."

"Arclight," he says.

"Yeah, okay, that one is good. Ringsome," she gives back.

"Yeah, I can actually - I mean, I think I know what that is. Like rings in a pond, ripples."

"But ripples is a good word too," she murmurs, as if affronted. "Why use ringsome?"

"Because of the sound. Rory and regginbrow and ringsome."

"Ripples still works," she insists.

He turns his face into the pillow and inhales, but he doesn't smell her, just his sheets, his body, nothing of hers. He feels like he should be able to, like it should linger here since her voice wraps around him. "I think it's the -ing sound."

"I like ripples better. That decides it. James Joyce is terrible."

"Oh no," he laughs, smiling into the sheets. "Not true. It's winsome."

"Well, I take back my statement-"

"See, you like winsome too."

"No. I liked Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. I just forgot that was his for a moment."

"Oh, I haven't read that one."

"Yeah, I've noticed you don't have much staying power to get through the difficult-"

He growls at her, flopping over onto his back. "I'll show you staying power."

She laughs, a little breathless, and he realizes what that sounded like, and he only meant the book, really he did, but oh wow. Oh wow, Kate seems - she sounds, if not thrilled, then definitely up for it.

"Castle."

"Yeah."

"Back to ringsome."

"Yeah. Please do."

"Any more favorite words in that one?"

"Mm, nope. Read on."

"The fall' - uh, I'm not reading this. This is ridiculous."

"What? What is it?"

"He has a whole two lines of - this is just letters - oh, I think it's supposed to be the sound of the fall? The thing falling. I don't even know what's falling. Castle, I have no idea what's going on in this book."

"Read the fall. I wanna hear you try it."

"You're mean."

"Do it."

Heavy sigh. But she sounds like she's enjoying winsome just as much as he's enjoying her. And then she does try to sound it out, makes some kind of syllabic, drawn-out noise that just ends with 'thunk' and then he's laughing at her, it just peals out of him, one after another so that he has to sit up in bed and wipe the tears from his cheeks as his guts hurt from it.

"You are so mean," she sighs, but he hears her holding back laughter as well, hears her struggling with it.

"Just - just admit it. Awesome. That was awesome."

She's grudging, and she's so alive even just on the phone, and he can see her like a vision in his room, and he wants her. He wants her so much it aches like belly laughter.

"Fine. It was awesome. Now can I keep reading?"

"Uh-huh. Yup. Go for it, Kate."

* * *

><p>She sounds so very sexy right now, partly because it's late and her voice is starting to rasp as it fades, and partly because he can hear how she trips lightly over the words that make no sense, how she isn't even trying to get it exactly right anymore, and he can't tell whether or not Joyce really did write 'prumpting' instead of 'prompting' but it doesn't matter at all because she's reading it like she's having fun.<p>

"And all the way (a horn!) from fjord to fjell his baywinds' oboboes shall wail him-"

A startled intake of breath has him opening his eyes, wondering.

"Oh, Castle. We're - we're at the bottom of page six."

"We made it. Wow."

"For a moment or more, I thought all was lost," she murmurs, halfway taking up, even now, the rhythm and language of James Joyce as if she's caught in his spell.

"But we made it. You still hate it?"

"Growing on me. But I won't finish it. I might - it was fun to read it though. Together," she says, almost like she's shy to admit it, like the woman on the other end of the phone doesn't carry around a weapon and routinely arrest murderers.

"It was," he says back softly. "Thank you, Kate."

"Any time."

"Made me miss you less," he whispers suddenly, knowing it's stupid and it's too much, but unable to-

"Me too," she says, a laugh and surprise in her voice. "Now get some sleep, Castle. For this, the universe will wake me with a body in three hours and I'm calling you to share in the early morning misery."

"Uh-huh, hear what you did there? All that alliteration. Joyce rubbed off on you."

"Sleep," she chides, but she's smiling. He knows she's smiling.

He's smiling too.

* * *

><p>When he's - oh, about at the beginning of the hallway? - anyway, he's here, and she can sense it now, sharper than she used to, and it's silly, but when he does show up early, sharing her misery, she's inordinately pleased to see him.<p>

And the secret smile on his face.

He's carrying a plastic container carefully, a shopping bag of stuff hooked around his wrist, and her smile drops a little, turns suspicious at the so very smug look on his face.

Uh-oh.

She stands and meets him outside the break room door, finds herself already surrounded by the vultures - Ryan and Espo of course, but a few other detectives as well, and a uniform who apparently got off the elevator with Castle because it smelled so good.

"What did you do?" she asks, growing more concerned. Not because he obviously brought food, food he made since it's in a storage container, but because he looks so self-assured and clever. Like he thinks he's hot stuff.

Mm, he is. Well, okay, to her. In a stupid and silly and entirely ridiculous way that she has yet to cure herself of, but-

He pops open the top on the container and makes his eyebrows dance at all of them. "Pancakes," he says with a relish.

Esposito and Ryan swivel to stare her down, twin expressions on their faces, and she narrows her eyes at them.

What, exactly, is this about? Why does this feel like a joke she's not privy to?

"Pancakes. No pastries?" she says, following Castle as he turns for the break room.

Ryan makes a noise in his throat even as Esposito hustles forward, giving Castle a punch in the arm.

Okay, wait a second. Way too much male testosterone flying around, and she has no clue why.

Ryan leans in over the break room table, inspecting the pancakes, and then he feeds the birds with Castle.

What the hell is-

"No," she says, suddenly clued in. "No. We did not sleep together."

Ryan's shoulders slump, his face goes red, but he shoots a confused look to Esposito, then back to Castle.

"But it is a thank you for last night," Castle adds.

She glares at him.

"It is!" he protests. "Beckett helped me get to sleep."

"I bet she did," Esposito mutters. Kate slugs him, hard, and gives him a look. He flashes her a mute glare and steps away from her.

"Also, I felt like pancakes. Oh shoot, Tomlin was carrying the coffees for me. Let me go-"

But Tomlin comes up behind Beckett and hands them over, giving her an embarrassed smile before he escapes. Right. Because of course he heard all of that, and now it will be all over the precinct.

_Fine._

Castle studies the two coffees for a second, closes his eyes as if he's trying to work out which hand for which, and then hands her the coffee in his left.

She takes it, still glaring at him, and sips.

"Ug, this is yours," she says, handing it back.

Castle switches with her and then nods to the pancakes. "Try one. I brought butter and syrup packets." He's rustling through the bag now, pulling stuff out, and despite herself, Kate finds her feet moving towards the table.

She reaches out and catches Ryan by the arm before he can shuffle away. "Since this was evidently aimed at least partway at you guys - some joke I don't know about - then you should stay and eat."

Esposito is already grinning and sitting down at the table, completely at ease, but Ryan has the grace to look apologetic.

Not Castle. Entirely unashamed, happy, bursting with it. She narrows her eyes at him, cradles her coffee against her chest and crooks a finger at him.

"You. Come with me."

He goes very still, his eyes on her, blinking fast. And then he makes a jerky movement and follows her just outside the break room to the relative privacy of the staircase.

"Beckett?"

"Castle," she murmurs, then steps in a little closer, her coffee really the only thing keeping them apart. "You wanna brag to the boys, then next time you better have something to actually brag about."

He opens his mouth, shuts it, stares at her.

She doesn't even have to lift up; her heels put her within reaching distance. Kate leans forward and traps that shocked mouth, slides her tongue inside his heat until his hands come up to clutch at her waist.

She pulls back, licking her lips, grins. "Been tasting the batter?"

"Oh, jeez, Beckett. You're killing me."

"You deserve it," she says finally, then breaks away from him and heads back to the break room and her morning-after pancakes.

* * *

><p>Next time he better have something to brag about.<p>

The words stay with him, haunting, as thrilling as they are debilitating. He comes up with scenario after scenario, but they're all wrong - too stupidly sentimental, too simple, too far-fetched - and he remains painfully paralyzed for the next two weeks.

Would she like a simple candle-lit dinner at his loft more than a weekend in the Hamptons? Should he book a table in a crazy-expensive restaurant that she would never get a chance to eat at otherwise? He just-

He wants it perfect, stupid as that is. He wants the setting and the time to be right and he wants her to _know_, when he looks into her eyes and slowly presses his mouth to hers, wants her to know that _this is it._

He's an idiot.

But knowing it doesn't help matters any.

And then, after a long day at the precinct, a day that he's spent watching her do paperwork and trying to picture what her body is like naked, Kate lifts clear, beautiful, loving eyes to him and says, "Wanna watch some_ Lost_ tonight?"

_Lost._ He kinda forgot about it - they both did, to be honest - because the last few weeks have been busy, dead bodies dropping one after the other, no time to think. But an evening snuggled on the couch with Kate, trying to make her laugh with his crazy theories?

Yeah. Sure sounds good.

"Love to," he answers with a smile, watching the lovely joy spread out in her eyes. He grabs her jacket and holds it for her, his heart fluttering at the way she brushes her hand to his neck as a silent thanks.

Kate laces their fingers together (he's still stunned when she does that in the precinct, like she's putting it out there for everyone to see) and she gives him a slow, sexy smirk.

"Your place or mine?"

* * *

><p>They end up at his because he's got a bigger screen; Kate texts Alexis surreptitiously as Castle hails a cab, just to let her know.<p>

They sit close together in the back seat, Rick's hand sliding up and down her thigh, bewitching; Kate's eyes are closed in pleasure when she feels the vibration of her phone in her pocket.

She waits until Castle is busy paying the driver to slide the phone out, shoot a quick glance down at the screen.

_Leaving now,_ the text reads. _You have the place all to yourselves. And Kate? Forget about the rules._

It's hard not to grin at that.

"What's got you so happy?" Castle inquires curiously, his mouth skirting her cheek as he tries to lean over her shoulder and read.

"Nothing," she says, going back to the main screen before he can even see who the sender is. "Come on, Castle." She pushes him out of the cab. "_Lost_ awaits."

And maybe not just _Lost_.

* * *

><p>Oh wow. Okay. This wasn't part of her plan.<p>

It's because she's so tired, surely. Or because of him?

He always softens her up, always mollifies her heart into this tender, mushy thing, and so when Shannon dies her stupid death - accidental gunshot - Kate is hurt and shocked and defenceless against it.

She hides her face into Castle's shoulder, has to breathe slowly around the lump in her throat. No fair.

How is it that every time she opens up, every time she lets herself _feel_, she ends up like this - with her heart in her throat and treacherous tears pushing at her eyelids?

But it helps, it helps to have Castle's lips hover at her temple, the soft hum of his voice, his arm winding her shoulders. "Hey," he whispers. "You okay?"

She nods, not quite trusting her voice, and waits a moment more to ask. "Is she really dead?"

He sighs, warm breath fanning her skin, and it makes her want to curl into him, forget the rest of the world.

"Yeah."

Kate's heart clenches painfully, and she tells herself sternly, _It's just a tv show character, Kate._

"It's so - not fair," she says, the words escaping her lips against her will, because she knows how childish it sounds. How ridiculous, when her mother got stabbed in an alley-

But of course, that's what it's all about.

This is the thing she's most sensitive to, the thing that made her become a cop. Justice. Or the lack thereof. The way a life is ripped away.

"They were just starting to-"

"I know," Rick says softly, trailing his lips across her cheek, kissing her jaw lightly. "But it's just a show, Kate."

"I know," she sighs in return. "Still. It feels like - such a waste."

His mouth meets hers, gentle, comforting, and after a few moments she forgets about Shannon and Sayid, focuses only on Castle's warmth, the slow, sexy touch of his tongue.

She curls her fingers around his neck, brings him closer as she lifts on her knees, shifts her body to straddle his lap; he makes that soft groan of approval and she smiles against his lips, loving the firm way his hands bracket her waist.

She abandons the hot cave of his mouth to lavish adoration on his neck, the strong jut of the tendon, the hollow of his throat; his hips jerk against hers, so responsive, and arousal simmers in her veins.

"Kate-" he gasps, and she can tell he's still trying to be good, still trying to hold himself back and follow the rules, the stupid rules that she was so serious about.

"Alexis is gone for the night," she whispers, kissing his collarbone, licking it ever so slowly. He shivers hard against her, and oh, it's time. It's more than time. "She said forget about the rules, Castle."

A trembling breath washes over her forehead, makes her look at him.

"She did?" His voice is so thready, almost a whimper.

She kisses his lips again, hard and hot, so the message will come across. His hand wraps around her neck, strong and demanding, and she smiles against his mouth, finds herself smirking.

"She did," she sighs into his lips. "So I think we've watched enough tv for tonight, Castle."

She backs away, just a whisper, just enough to catch the lust flaring in his eyes, the anticipation and the love that break his face wide open.

"I think you're right," he says.

* * *

><p>He slams her into the door of his bedroom, a deep, dark part of him relishing the moan she lets out, the grip that tightens on his shirt, asking for <em>more more more<em>; he maltreats her mouth with his teeth, his rough tongue, pushes her as far as she can take.

She's not coherent anymore; the only thing she can produce is needy, whimpery little sounds that fall from her lips in time with the wild jerks of her hips against him.

One of her long legs is wrapped around his thigh, pressing him close, so close and good; Castle grits his teeth as he struggles against his baser instincts, reminds himself over and over, _first time, first time, need to make it good._

Slow and excruciating and unforgettable.

Oh yeah, Kate.

He doesn't care how long they've waited. He's doing this right.

He lifts her other leg and it comes naturally around his waist, her head falling back as she murmurs something incomprehensible that vaguely sounds like his name; he can't help the groan that vibrates through his throat.

Oh, fuck.

He leans in and traces the line of her neck as he moves, one careful step after the other since he can't see anything but her beautiful, flushed, perfect skin; his shin hits the bed and he lowers them slowly, releases her only when he's sure she's lying on the covers.

She won't let go of him. His attempt at righting himself fails dramatically because she's holding him so tight; he loses his balance and slams right back into her, breathless and delighted and laughing.

Laughing at how bad Kate Beckett wants him.

"Not funny," she manages to pant against his skin, and then her tongue is inside his mouth and stroking, _twirling, _and she's driving him _crazy_-

Her fingers slide between his waistband and his abdomen before he even realizes what she's doing; he jerks and hisses in surprise, his whole body stiffening as he catches her hand sharply.

"None of that, Beckett," he warns, gripping her wrist and pinning it over her head.

She whines, no, growls, and undulates her hips in a way that he wants to call illegal. Surely it must be.

"Give me - what I want," she breathes fiercely, squirming under him, and the only reason he doesn't laugh is the dirty fire she's lighting in his belly.

He catches her other wrist, holds himself at just enough distance to make her crazy, and he bends over to feast on her neck, his tongue lazily gathering the beads of sweat at her collarbone.

"Castle," she begs low in her throat.

"Yes," he murmurs back against her mouth, giving in, Kate, _Kate_.

Anything she wants.

* * *

><p><em>20. Get past page 5 of Finnegan's Wake<em>


	8. Chapter 8

**Bucket List**

* * *

><p>She's at her own place, not missing him, not really, just standing in front of her open fridge and trying to decide what type of dinner takes the least amount of work when her phone rings.<p>

"Beckett!" he yelps into her ear.

"Castle? What the-"

"I'm coming up. I'm nearly there."

"Castle? What's going on?" But he's already hung up on her.

She shuts the fridge and heads for her door, checking through the peephole. After only a few more seconds, his head pops up the stairs, and then he's coming down her hallway.

Kate unlocks and opens the door for him, startled when he blows right past her, looking hunted. "Castle?"

He whips around in her living room, like he's searching for something, fingers flexing.

"Castle."

"Do you not have a tv, woman?" He growls at her and then makes a beeline for her computer, waking it up with a jiggle of the mouse.

She forgives him for it, for now anyway, and follows him to her office. After a moment, he's typing _zipline accident_ into the search bar. She slides her hand to his back, her palm pressed flat, hoping to settle him down maybe, but instead she finds his panic begins to seep into her, like it's catching.

"Castle, what's going on?" He's wild-eyed, his movements jerky.

"Read this," he says breathlessly, straightening up from her desk and stepping aside.

She leans in closer, scanning the news article he's pulled up. A Georgia woman has had her leg amputated after contracting a rare, flesh-eating bacteria from a zipline-related injury.

"Oh," she murmurs, scrolling down.

Using a homemade zipline over the river, she fell when the line snapped and cut her leg. The bacteria entered through the wound and resulted in necrotizing fasciitis - the woman may have to have her foot and fingers amputated due to poor circulation. A foot and her fingers, how awful.

"I am _not losing my fingers._" Castle says urgently. "I can't. I need my fingers, Beckett."

"It would make writing difficult-"

"Not the writing. No, I'd get one of those straw things where you blow - or ooh, oh man, I could have way-cool hooks, like a pirate, or like a robot arm-"

"Castle-"

"No, it's the _touching._" He sighs and leans into her, arms coming around her shoulders in a brutal hug, as if he's holding on. His mouth moves at her ear. "I couldn't feel you, Kate. Feel you against my fingers. Do things to you-"

She shivers hard, a wave of arousal overwhelming the panic, the amusement, everything. "No flesh-eating bacteria. Got it."

"No zipline. Ever. We're marking it off the list."

She shivers again and presses her mouth to his neck, touches the hard ridge of his adam's apple with her tongue.

"I do like your fingers," she murmurs.

"Yeah," he says back, a hot breath at her cheek. "I brought the list. And a red marker. We're marking it off."

"But you didn't-"

"There will be _no_ ziplining, Kate Beckett."

"I could zipline for you, like your stunt double-"

"No. I want you to keep your fingers too. And your legs. Oh, how I love your legs," he growls and seals his mouth against hers.

She lifts into him, draws her knee up the outside of his thigh in invitation. He grabs her leg, squeezing tightly, and pushes her back against the shutters at her window.

"Kate," he moans. "Let me-"

"Yes," she breathes, tilting her head back against the wood and trying to focus on the need in his eyes. "We can cross it off your list later, Castle. First this."

* * *

><p>Castle is rooting around in her fridge, searching for <em>something, anything<em> to eat when he turns around, empty-handed, and discovers the tupperware on the counter.

"Hey, Kate, looks like you left eggs out," he yells back. Huh. She said he'd interrupted her trying to figure out what to do for dinner, and then her stomach growled, so he came out here thinking he could be chivalrous and feed her, but there's nothing. "Kate? Eggs!"

He pokes the lid, wondering why in the world she keeps eggs in a tupperware container, and when he lifts his head, he finds her standing in the living room, a soft look on her face.

Soft, not hungry, not smirking. Tender, a little shy too.

Kate Beckett, shy?

"That's not food, Castle."

"I know. Ew. It's been out on the counter for a few hours now. How about-"

"No," she says quietly and comes into the kitchen, sliding the tupperware away from him and towards herself. "Not what you think. It's really not for eating."

"What's it for?" he says, knitting his eyebrows as he studies her. She looks defensive of the eggs, and that's. . .weird.

Kate sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, gnaws at her with her teeth. Then she comes around the island and cracks open the lid.

A horrendous smell pours out of the tupperware container, sulfur and garbage and vomit. He gags, but she's already closing it back up, pressing the lid on tightly and giving him a little self-satisfied smirk.

"What the hell? It reeks." He waves his hand in front of his face and wrinkles his nose; he can't get the smell out of his nostrils.

"Eggs go bad when you leave them out for two weeks," she says.

"Is that some kind of science experiment?"

"No. It's numbers 32 and 33 on your list."

He stares at her, struck dumb, but no matter how he racks his brains, he can't figure out what she's getting at. Wait. "Where's my list?" he mutters, and hurries across the floor in his tshirt and boxers, searching for his jeans.

He finds them in her room, rifles through the pockets until he finds the folded up list. He scans it, flips it over to the back where 32 and 33 are right near the top-

"Kate!"

He hurries back out to the kitchen, screeches to a halt in front of her, breathless, pleased, delighted with her. "You're crafty."

She smiles wide at him, face just lighting up with it - such a beautiful smile, how amazing she looks when she just smiles honestly without any of the heat or the tease behind it, just her pure and unadulterated joy. And maybe a little bit of relief.

"I'm crafty?"

"Clever."

"You get what I did?"

"I got it. Feggin had babies, I'm guessing? So Alexis's fake baby egg is the father, which makes me the great-grandfather-"

"Which means you have lived to have great-grandkids."

"And it looks like you definitely spoiled them," he finishes, grinning widely at her.

She grins back, demure, and steps in close to him. "I figured it might be faster this way? Than asking Alexis to hurry up and get married-"

"Faster?" he says quickly, trying to ignore the mental image of Alexis getting married and getting pregnant, and damn, maybe not in that order. "You trying to hurry this up, Kate Beckett?"

"Mm, maybe."

"You working towards a specific number on that list?"

"You could say that," she says softly, licks her bottom lip.

He grins again. Number fifty - get married and make it last. He is too. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, you know me, Castle. I can't wait. . ."

His chest tightens, heart fluttering. "Can't wait. . ."

"For the Knicks to win the championship."

He groans, but she's laughing and lifting up on her toes to brush that laughing mouth across his.

* * *

><p><em>28. Buy apartment across the street<em>

_29. Install zipline_

_32. Live to have great grand children_

_33. Spoil them rotten_


	9. Chapter 9

**Bucket List**

* * *

><p>"Castle."<p>

He hears the reprobation and the reluctance in her voice, carefully layered over the amazement as she steps out of the cab after him; he reaches back for her, takes her hand, even though her mouth is pursed as she looks from him to the hotel, and back.

The Waldorf Astoria Chicago towers over them with its impressive, elegant facade glowing in the night; the large windows and the beautiful glass arc above the door make subtle promises.

"Kate." He tugs on her fingers, trying to move forward, but she won't budge, regards him with something like disappointment.

Ah.

"Kate," he says again, coming to her now, his fingertips brushing over her cheek. She closes her eyes for a second, like she's overwhelmed by it, his touch, the hotel, all of it.

"Castle, it's too much," she says when she opens her eyes again, dark and upset.

No, no, no.

"It's only for two nights," he pleads, but he can already tell. This is stupid; he's stupid. He should never have let Gina book this hotel. But it was a last minute thing and they would have been in a fancy place anyway, and she _so_ deserves it...

"I can _never _repay you," she opposes stubbornly, the line of her jaw so sharp. "I don't even know how much this place-"

"Kate, love," he says as he comes closer, curling his hands around her face, making her look at him. "This isn't about repaying me. You're doing me a favor, remember? Coming with me to this literary panel thing. You're doing Nikki a favor."

She watches him in silence, these gorgeous eyes framed with dark make-up and dark eyelashes, and she doesn't seem convinced.

"It's Nikki Heat's money, Kate. And trust me, the fans will be so happy to see you. To have both our sides of the story. I can tell them what it was like to work with cops for inspiration, and you can tell them what it was like to have an annoying writer tagging along, all the stupid things I've done-"

She smirks, shakes her head slightly, and leans in to caress his cheek with her mouth.

"You've done some pretty great things too," she tells him, the humor on her face slowly fading into genuine tenderness.

"See? You can tell them that. Make them love me even more," he grins as she thumps his chest lightly.

Her eyes stray to the hotel again, and she exhales quietly, chews on her lower lip. He waits, watches her relent, inch by inch.

"Okay. Fine. But I'm warning you, Castle - I'm gonna hate it. I'm gonna feel out of place every single second-"

"No you won't," he laughs, so relieved, heart beating wildly as he kisses her mouth reverently. "Remember LA, Kate? You'll be perfect. You'll fit right in."

She narrows her eyes at him. "Doesn't mean I'll like it, Castle."

He does his best to erase his smile, because he can tell how serious she is about this, the effort she's making, letting him do this for her.

"Okay, Kate."

She fists her hand in his shirt, eyes intense on his, so earnest. "So if I'm doing this, you have to promise me. There'll be no next time."

He swallows, tries to figure a way around that. Because if they - if, _when,_ they get married - if they make it to number 50, and he can't give her the honeymoon-

"Castle," she says sternly, as if she knows exactly what's going on in his mind. "I'm not with you for the money. I don't _care_ about the money. I'd be fine sleeping in the cheapest motel in town, if it was with you. Got it?"

He smiles slowly, can't help reveling in this. "Why, that's a pretty romantic declaration, Kate Beckett."

"Castle," she insists, so beautiful in her determination. He can't help kissing her again, longer this time, their tongues sliding together in a moist, luscious ballet.

"Okay," he says breathlessly when he breaks away, and he means it. "I promise, Kate. No more Waldorf."

She's right. The only thing that matters is them. Together.

He can give up the luxury for her; hell, he can do anything, as long as he's got her by his side.

"Good," she whispers against his skin, raspy and lovely, so entrancing.

He wishes they were in their room already.

* * *

><p>The white marble floor holds tiny black diamonds at every square; her eyes follow their pattern to the black drapes, the sheer curtains, and the dark night beyond the vast windows.<p>

She feels Castle at her back and steps farther inside the sitting room, her eyes sweeping the black leather couch, the marble and chrome coffee table, the white fireplace, wrought iron grill, and the touches of formal decadence interspersed with modern severity.

It's too much.

The door closes behind the bellman, their bags not-so-subtly placed side by side in the threshold of the master suite. She can't stop staring at the glimpse of the broad bed, and then she feels his hands at her hips as he comes up behind her.

His mouth presses to the back of her neck and then opens, hot and immediate, her stomach tensing in appreciation as his tongue traces the line of her tendon.

"Kate," he breathes against her.

She takes a moment to close her eyes, feel all of him draped at her back, and then she turns around in his embrace. He strokes her hair back from her face, brings his lips to hers for a kiss that makes her curl into him.

"Long flight," he murmurs, inanely she thinks, and then he skims his tongue over her bottom lip.

"Yeah," she huffs back, sliding her fingers under his suit jacket, seeking the close, tight space between his belt and waistband.

He nibbles at her bottom lip. "Long day."

She hums and slides her fingers down, smiles into his mouth as his hips cant towards hers.

"You're probably - ah - probably tired?"

She lifts her eyes to his with a growl. "Not hardly."

He grins back and this time his mouth is aggressive, harsh, his hands at the back of her thighs and hauling her against him.

She tugs his belt open, pulls it from the loops of his pants and starts in on his buttons as his mouth makes a long trail down her neck, teeth scraping, sucking at her skin.

He grunts when her fingers brush against his bare skin, her palms flatten at the sides of his waist; she dips her head down to his chest.

"Wait, wait," he gasps, but he hikes her thigh up against his waist.

"No more waiting," she says, clutching his shoulders for balance.

He slides both arms under her and picks her up; she chokes on a laugh, knees squeezing at his hips.

"Put me down, Castle."

"I'm taking you to bed."

"I can walk," she says, rolling her eyes at him and trying to slide her thigh down.

"I'm afraid one or both of us will trip over our suitcases."

"I think I'll be fine-"

"You're ruining my moment, woman."

She lifts an eyebrow at him, but he's already moving for the bedroom. Kate jerks her leg down, putting her foot to the floor, halting his progress. He scowls at her.

"I had another moment in mind first." She darts in and presses her mouth to his jaw, sliding her lips back to his ear. "Pick a window."

He gasps and jerks his head back to stare at her. "First?"

She grins. "That's what caught your attention?"

He casts a hasty look around the broad living room, then backs off of her to grab her hand instead. Not exactly what she was-

"Middle window first," he says on a grin, and tugs her towards the dark night. "And then, second? The one on the left."

* * *

><p>She wakes up slowly, opens her eyes to find him looking at her; he's rolled onto his side to face her, eyes crinkled and still heavy with sleep. His face is relaxed, even, the lines smoothed out.<p>

He looks beautiful, bathed in morning light.

She lifts a lazy hand and runs her index finger over his cheek, follows the slope of his nose, traces the contours of his mouth. He smiles, pursues her finger with a light kiss, and she smiles too.

"Morning, Kate," he says.

He's going to make her into the biggest sap if she's not careful. "Morning," she answers softly, resting her hand at his collarbone.

He brings his fingers over hers, drawing light patterns over the back of her hand; he makes her shiver.

"Wanna go down for breakfast?" he suggests.

She stretches her legs as she considers, marvelling once again at how ridiculously soft the sheets feel. She sighs inwardly. The Waldorf. Really, Castle.

"What time is it?" she asks, arching like a feline. It's a habit of hers, and she's not going to drop it any time soon, not when she can feel his eyes on her every time she does it.

"Almost nine," he says, sounding thoroughly distracted. She smirks. "What time is the panel again?" she asks even though she knows exactly when it is.

But she wants to see the flash of realization in his eyes, wants to see that lovely darkness spread over his face-

"Twelve," he answers, and yeah, it's all there, in his pleased, gruff voice, the slow smile that curls his lips. She hums and he shifts closer, as if pulled in by the sound.

"So," she murmurs, giving him a look under her eyelashes, "we probably don't have to get out of bed just yet."

"Probably not," he agrees softly, and his hand is already at her abdomen, light and warm, making her laugh low in her throat.

She arches, his fingers move, and there's no more mention of breakfast.

* * *

><p>When they finally make it to the restaurant, it's empty, of course, except for themselves and another couple sitting in a corner. Castle leads Kate to a table that allows them some intimacy, but he can't help sinking onto the chair that will give him the better view of the couple.<p>

He's intrigued. They look vaguely familiar, but he has no idea where-

Yeah, no. Maybe he's wrong.

They're younger than him. The man looks like he's in his early thirties, and the woman - ah, hard to tell. She could be twenty as easily as thirty. They're both Asian, but not Japanese, nor Chinese, Castle thinks; they look more...exotic than that.

The woman has jet black hair, sharp cheekbones, gorgeous dark eyes that contrast with her smooth skin. She's beautiful in a cold, removed sort of way. The man has the kind of face you want to trust, kind and open - or it would be, if he were smiling.

He's jerked out of his contemplation by a nudge of Kate's foot at his leg; she gives him a pointed look and he suddenly realizes that a waiter has materialized out of nowhere and is patiently awaiting their order.

Right.

He grabs the menu but Kate has hers already open in front of her; she asks for two coffees, and a Belgian waffle with fresh fruit that sounds absolutely amazing, so Castle just asks for the same.

The waiter gives a little bow and vanishes. Rick looks at Kate, finds her smirking at him.

"You always make such a fuss when I pick the same thing as you in a restaurant," she points out, her eyes laughing at him.

"Hey, he took me by surprise! Honestly, you gotta give a guy time to look through his options-"

"You had plenty of time," she tells him, an eyebrow arched. "You just chose to spend it watching-" she lowers her voice as she glances over at the couple "-whoever those two are. You know them?"

He shakes his head, annoyed by the not knowing. "I don't think so. I feel like I've seen them somewhere, but I...I might be wrong. You?"

Another sharp, inconspicuous flick of her eyes before she looks back at him, shrugs. "No. Never seen them. But whoever they are, they sure don't look happy."

Uh. Yeah. She's right. Castle's been so intent on remembering where he might have seen them; he didn't really pay attention before. But yes, there's the way they're sitting - stiff and distant - and then they haven't said a word to each other since he and Kate came in here.

Looks like they just had a fight.

"Castle," Kate hisses. "Stop watching them if you can't be subtle about it."

"I _am _subtle," he protests indignantly, turning back to her - and really he _is_, he's been careful...

Just then the couple stands up, the woman taking the time to wrap a pink and gold scarf around her neck before they move towards the door; they both shoot a look at Castle as they pass him, and he sags a little under their gaze.

Okay. So maybe he wasn't _that_ subtle.

Kate is giving him this half-amused, half-reproving smile that he kinda loves; he leans forward and reaches for her hand, laces their fingers. She lets him, which means that at least she's not too embarrassed by his antics. Good.

He loves watching people, can't help it, although he knows that it can get a little bit...creepy.

But Kate seems willing to forgive him today.

"Do you have any idea of the kind of questions they're gonna ask us?" she asks, and - oh, she means the panel. Right.

He's opening his mouth to answer when the waiter comes back with their food; the waffles look every bit as delicious as promised, the coffee smells lovely, and within about thirty seconds the mysterious fighting couple has completely left his mind.

* * *

><p>At five o'clock, Kate slips out the side door of the spacious ballroom and leans back against the wall, just for a moment. She loves to read, she loves to talk about books, but this is-<p>

This is far too. . . At some point, she just doesn't _care_ that much about a character's internal motivations. She doesn't know why Nikki Heat did that; she's just glad she gets to read it.

With a sigh, Kate pushes off from the wall in search of sustenance. If she's going to be thinking this hard about character profiles and rising action, then she needs a power bar. Or a sandwich.

A drink maybe.

Beckett smirks and finds her way back to the variety of dining areas lining the Waldorf's lobby; she checks out her options and heads for the least expensive thing she can find - Bernard's.

At the bar, she asks for a Coke and their apparently famous homemade potato chips, and then she scans the menu looking for something light. She licks salt off her thumb, sips the soda slowly, and hasn't even settled on what to eat when someone knocks into her from behind.

Kate jerks sharply, her hand reaching for a gun that isn't there, and she realizes it's the exotic woman from this morning's brunch. A heavily accented apology, the brush of dark lashes, and then the woman is turning back around to her companion.

Oh. _Not_ the man from this morning.

Kate pivots to face the bartender and waves him off; she'll stick with a snack of potato chips instead of ordering real food (not that they have much). She and Castle will probably go get dinner somewhere.

The exotic-looking woman and her new male companion are at the bar just down from Kate, handsy and flirty. Kate is just about to leave and sneak back into the literature panel when the man from this morning stalks inside with a flanking host of burly guys in black suits and earpieces.

Whoa.

Kate sticks close to the bar, an eyebrow raised, involuntarily meeting the eyes of the woman as her head comes up. The man is berating her in a language Kate has never heard, similar perhaps to Chinese, his face bleached with anger. Twin spots of color flush the woman's cheeks, but she stands tall and gives it back even as her male companion slinks to the background.

When the man raises his hand to her, Kate jerks forward instinctively, but he only takes her by the upper arm and starts-

Kate gulps and turns her head away. He's pleading, every line of his body begging the woman. She doesn't need to know the language to know exactly where these two stand. She wants freedom and he wants her. Impasse.

At that moment, Castle ducks into the bar, eyes searching for hers, and Kate escapes gratefully towards him, leaving cash on the bar as she goes.

He gives her a confused but happy look, receives her soft kiss with a murmur of approval.

"Couldn't stand it any longer?" he says, a hand at her lower back, warm and light.

She glances over her shoulder at the couple still having it out, feels Castle looking at them as well. When she turns back to him, he's observing their argument intently, taking notes in his head, no doubt.

Kate leans in and slides her hand at his jaw, brings his eyes to meet hers.

"I can stand it," she says. "Whatever you need me for, Castle."

Because she hopes, fervently hopes, he doesn't see their relationship echoed in the couple across the bar.

* * *

><p>When the panel's over, Castle gladly snatches her away from all those admiring eyes - hell, beautiful <em>and<em> smart, every man in the room is probably in love with her by now - and suggests dinner in town; Kate gives him one of those soft looks that completely undo him, says yes.

Her hand rests on top of his thigh in the taxi; she doesn't move it, doesn't do anything really, but the warmth from her palm is enough to set his blood on fire.

He starts wondering if the restaurant was such a good idea. Maybe they should have stayed within walking distance of their room; an...urgent situation may arise, and then what will they-

Her fingers squeeze around his knee. He meets her eyes in the dimness of the car; they're glistening in amusement, the curl of her mouth mocking him.

"We'll get back to the hotel soon enough, Castle," she says in a low voice, and _okay, okay,_ not only is she the most incredible, sexiest, bravest woman to have ever walked this earth, but apparently she can also _read his mind._

He stares at her with his mouth open and she laughs, this deep, throaty thing that is certainly *not* helping.

She leans in and presses her lips to his jaw, her fingers brushing his waist, making his abdomen quiver in a rush of delicious want_._

"Have to feed me first," she says in his ear, smiling. He forgot to add _tease _to the very long lists of the things she is. "Then we can play."

He gulps and spends the rest of the ride looking stubbornly through the window, trying very hard to ignore the hand that rests over his dress pants.

It doesn't work so well.

* * *

><p>The restaurant is tiny, but lovely; the lights are soft and the colors warm, orange walls, red seats, gorgeous black decor. A small woman leads them to an empty table, hands them menus with a serene smile. Kate casts a glance over the main courses and is infinitely relieved to see how reasonable the prices are (also, wow, their Cantonese chicken looks absolutely <em>amazing).<em>

She looks up at Castle, finds him smiling at her. On an impulse, she grabs his hand, slides her fingers through his, squeezes.

"Thank you," she says, and it's everything at once; it's _thank you_ for understanding, _thank you _for booking a normal restaurant even when they're staying at the Waldorf,_ thank you_ for being so damn sweet that she almost can't remember what it's like when he's annoying the crap out of her.

Castle leans over the table, meets her lips with his, once, twice.

"I love you, Kate," he says quietly, and _damn_ if her heart doesn't still flip in her chest every time he aims the words at her.

* * *

><p>They've had some sort of Asian liqueur with their desserts, some drink that Castle can't remember the name of, let alone pronounce; it might be why Kate laughs so readily at jokes that he's afraid are not quite his best. He winds an arm around her waist, drawing her to him as she exits the cab. She comes, pauses against him for a moment, her forehead at his temple even though she's wearing pretty high heels.<p>

Lovely heels. They meet the glorious line of her calves as if they're part of her body, a natural end to her legs; he stared at them for a good five minutes when she first walked out of the bedroom in them.

"You okay, Kate?" he asks, his lips brushing the side of her nose.

She gives a little breathy laugh that he feels down to his toes. "Yeah," she murmurs. "Drinks were nice, huh?"

She moves away to look at him, and it's a beautiful, dark, starry night but her eyes outshine it all, her bottomless eyes that are brighter, more entrancing than any star he's ever seen. Wow. How much more cheesy can he get?

He's breathless and Kate sees it, gives him that indulgent smirk that drives him absolutely crazy. "Come on, Castle," she says, holding out her hand.

Her fingers are long and smooth and cool and he trails after her, startled, grateful, silent.

He wants nothing more than to be alone with her in the elevator, but just as the doors are gliding shut and he's about to get his wish, a man's hand slides between the panels, jerks them open again.

The man comes in and grins at them, one of these indolent, self-satisfied smiles that Castle himself might have worn a couple years back, and therefore resolutely hates. The guy's got a woman draped over his shoulder, giggling; the writer looks away, discomfort twisting his stomach for no reason that he can comprehend.

Kate's fingers wriggle against his and he looks at her, realizes with a stunned breath, as he stares into her green eyes, why he's so deeply uneasy. He glances back and yeah, the woman is the one from this morning, the gorgeous Asian girl, creamy skin and ebony eyes; but she's not with the same man.

Oh.

Kate knows; this is why she's tracing the edge of his palm with her thumb, looking only at him.

Castle's eyes find the display, the slow shift of numbers, wishes their room wasn't on the top floor. But the elevator comes to a smooth stop quickly enough, and even as he moves to step out he understands his mistake. This is not his and Kate's floor, it's..._theirs._ That man's.

Indolent Smirk walks out with his hands all over his companion, and she laughs, a drunk helpless laugh that is painful to hear. In the few seconds that pass before the doors of the elevator slide closed again, Castle cranes his neck to peek, catches a glimpse of the door the couple is leaning against. Then they're gone and Kate's hand is hooking in his belt, tugging.

He meets her lips without meaning to.

"Stop thinking, Castle," she whispers, dark and throaty, so beautiful it aches. "None of our business."

Right, right. She's right. God, what is wrong with him? He's got Kate Beckett in his arms and he's thinking about this woman a couple floors down, who might or might not be cheating on her husband?

The story. He wants the story, wants to understand the reasons that can lead a woman to forsake sacred vows, throw them to the wind like they mean nothing-

He kisses Kate, drinks from her open, offered mouth, and just as he's starting to let go, just as his body's response starts obliterating everything else, the elevator opens on their floor and shit, _shit_, when he looks up the husband is standing in front of him.

_Damn._

The bodyguards from this afternoon aren't around either.

Castle feels Kate's grip on his hand, strong, steel-like, and she leads them past the guy, firm and decided; they're almost safe - _almost - _when the man turns back to them, his eyes angry, blood-shot, and he says, "Hey, have you seen my wife?"

Shit, shit.

The writer swivels around, cannot _not_ answer that question, ignore it, not when...

Not when he's been there. Not when he remembers it so sharply, the betrayal, the humiliation, the pain. The guy has a right to know.

"Castle," Kate hisses, just as the husband says, "She must be at the bar - she has black hair, dark, almond-shaped eyes..."

"Yeah," Castle says, his throat tight. "We've seen her." Kate's hand relaxes on his arm, drops, like she's finally understood that she can't keep him from spilling it.

He steps forward, just a step towards that unlucky man whose world is probably coming apart right now. _Sorry, man. But it's better to know._

"She was in the elevator with us, but she got off - three floors down. With a man. They seemed to be going, ah, into a room, two doors down on the left, when you step out into the corridor."

The Asian man blanches; his eyes turn lifeless, completely flat for a second. And then anger rises again. "Thanks," he says curtly, with a strange, sharp little nod, before he turns away and makes for the stairs.

Castle watches him with deep sorrow clenching at his insides, a strong sense of mourning that is ridiculous since he knows virtually _nothing_ about these people. He tries to shake it off, turns back to Kate.

Her eyes are grave, her lips pressed together as she regards him; and the shadow at the corner of her mouth says, _What have you done, Castle?_

* * *

><p>Standing, Kate brushes her hand through his hair as he sits on the bed; he leans in against her, his cheek at her hipbone, and sighs.<p>

She doesn't ask why he did it, why he butted into someone else's relationship, totally not their business. She's a little frustrated by it, but she understands his impetus. He's been on that side of things; he once told her, rather off-handedly, how Meredith had cheated on him. Knowing him now, she can look back on that moment and realize how much hurt he was hiding.

"I'm sorry," he says after a moment.

"No, you're not," she murmurs back, strokes her hand down his back.

"Not for that. He needed to know," he says, huffing a little. "Sorry I ruined the mood."

"We'll get it back." She pushes on him a little and sits on his leg, her knees pushing against his other thigh, arm hooked at his neck. He gives her a look, surprise and consternation both, and then he puts his hands at her waist lightly, as if he doesn't want to make her feel like he's holding her there.

She strokes her fingers through his hair again, slides down to loosen his tie. "Don't worry about it, Castle. It happened; it's over."

He watches her for a moment, then his hands slide up her sides, fingers rucking up her blouse and his mouth going for hers. He holds there for a moment, curling in her bra, his lips pressing harder, tongue splitting the seam of her mouth.

She forgets trying to unknot his tie, just yanks on it, bringing him in closer; his teeth bite into her lips and she twists in his lap, legs wrapping around his waist, skirt constricting. He grunts and his hands stroke her thighs, then dive under her shirt, hot and quick, and he's already popping off her bra.

She puts a knee into his chest and he goes, flopping backward onto the bed with a flickering grin. She lifts up over him, starts unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as she can, fingers fumbling in her eagerness.

He laughs, hands sliding up and down her sides, infuriatingly seductive, her skin heating up every time his thumbs slip along her ribs. She pulls his shirt out of his pants and leans down, mouth to his bare chest and wiping the smirk right off his face.

His hands grip her thighs as he groans, and then she uses his tie to pull him upright and against her, drag his shirt down his arms.

"You know," she murmurs against his jaw, his body flush with hers as she helps him tug the cuffs off his wrists. "You know I'll never do that to you."

He grunts, his mouth suckling at her collarbone. "You'd better not."

Kate growls at him, knees squeezing his hips, dives her hands down for his belt.

He gasps, chuckles at her, his eyes dark as he slowly pulls her silky blouse over her head. When she can see him again, he strokes his hands over her, intense and serious. "Let me amend that," he says, his mouth meeting hers again, his kiss rich, velvet.

"You might want to," she says back, breaking from his mouth to wait on him.

"I know you'll never do that," he says, stopping to press his lips above her heart. "Because you're mine."

"No, Castle," she murmurs, sliding her fingers through his hair and pushing his head back. "Because, _you_ are _mine_."

* * *

><p>They wake up late the next morning. As he hops into his pants, he can hear Kate grumbling about people who turn off the alarm <em>and then go back to sleep<em>, but he ignores her (really, it's not _his _fault that she didn't even flinch when the thing went off).

He brushes his teeth quickly, can't help giving chagrined looks to the divine multi-option shower that they certainly haven't made the most of; but then Kate is nudging him, a light hand at his waist, saying something about not wanting to miss the plane.

He wants to tell her - but no.

It's probably not a good idea to point out that they could easily change their tickets and get a later flight, and they wouldn't even be charged. He remembers the look she shot him when she realized they were flying first class, not exactly surprised but a little wary; he shuts his mouth.

Her hand is on his knee for the whole ride to the airport; he smiles because she's looking through the window, thoughtful, and he doesn't think she's even aware of the patterns her fingers are tracing on his dress pants.

Once they've gone through security, Kate relaxes. They have a good thirty minutes before boarding starts and she eases back into the hard chair at Chicago-O'Hare, facing the moving walkway, and Castle just watches her.

After a good five minutes of staring, she turns her head and gives him a long look, equal parts aroused and pissed, and he quickly averts his eyes. She's gotten over the fact that he likes to observe, he knows that. But she told him a few months ago that now it turns her on.

He honestly forgot that. He really and truly forgot it turned her on. He just - the morning sun coming in through the windows illuminate her with a nimbus of clear, pale light that makes her body thrum and vibrate before him.

She growls and he hastily stops staring, wiping his palms against his pants and searching for something else to stare at for a while. He's still halfway out of it, not quite awake, and if he could just zone out for the next thirty minutes while they wait to board-

Oh, there we go. CNN on the big televisions overhead. Perfect. Just-

He gasps, so startled that his hands fly out and smack into the metal armrests.

"Castle?"

He stares at the news report, his mouth open in shock.

"Castle, what-"

She stumbles to a halt as well and he can't tear his eyes from the footage of the royal couple of Bhutan as they leave the Waldorf in separate, heavily-secured vehicles.

_Royal Couple Splits One Year After First Public Kiss_

"Oh no," Kate whispers. "You - the - that was-"

He reads the scrawl at the bottom out loud, barely able to believe it. "Bhutan's 32 year old king is known to invite people into his home for tea and a chat. Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck-"

"I don't think you pronounced that-"

"-took to the throne in 2008, married his commoner wife, Jetsun Pema, in 2011, a then-21 year old student. Ohhhh, Kate. What - what have I done?"

"You?" she hisses.

His tears his eyes from the television broadcast and stares at her.

She shakes her head at him. "You had nothing to do with that, Castle. She did this. She did. Not you."

"But I didn't have to open my stupid mouth and prove it to him. Jeez, what an idiot. Oh no, look at that. They met at a family picnic when he was 17 and she was 7 and - ew - oh ew, that's gross."

"You know, when you were 17, _I _was sev-"

"Hush your mouth," he mutters, his eyes once more glued to the television. And then it hits him that yes, exactly, their age difference and discrepancies are exactly the same as the royal couple whose fate he apparently sealed. "I - actually - Kate, you - I mean, God, you're gorgeous, and I'm not saying I'm not handsome, but there's definitely a disparity here. You're entirely out of my league - I'm dating way over my head with you-"

"Castle."

He winces and stops, casts a hesitant glance to her. She looks furious. Uh-oh.

"Self-denigration is not attractive on you."

He pauses.

She narrows her eyes at him. "I'm not inclined to feed your ego, Rick Castle, but guess what?"

He raises both eyebrows in hopeful expectation.

She leans in and kisses him hard on the mouth, her tongue forcing its way inside, entirely too PDA for the usual Beckett style, and he snakes his hand to the back of her neck to hold on. When her lips peel from his, she doesn't go far, hovering there at his mouth.

"Thought you said it _wasn't_ attractive."

"It's not. That was a reminder of what we did last night, what I feel for you, and how different we are from the royal couple of Bhutan, Castle."

The royal coup-

"Oh my God," he gasps, startling back from her, his eyes going wide.

She blinks, looks put out by his distance.

"Kate. Kate that's - we just - I mean, totally inadvertently, but we just crossed off another item on my list."

"Wha-"

She puts a hand to her mouth, but he can see the smile flirting with her lips.

"Why are you _smiling_?"

She presses her lips together, her hand dropping, and she gives him a little half-shrug. "Well, Castle. Some people aren't meant to be together, I suppose. But it looks like we are."

He gapes at her, the wind knocked out of him at that.

"What?" she huffs at him, rolling her eyes. "I mean, the universe just handed us an item on your list, Castle."

"Ye-essss," he draws out, lifting an eyebrow.

"Must mean the universe wants us to - you know - make it through all those items too."

"Like the last one? Number fifty."

She only smiles at him that close-mouthed smile, eyes sparkling and practically beaming love at him.

He slides his hand over hers and laces their fingers together. "Yeah, you're right. It's a sign from the universe. Wouldn't want to disappoint the universe, would we?"

* * *

><p><em>4. Break up the marriage of a royal couple.<em>


	10. Chapter 10

**Bucket List**

* * *

><p>Rick Castle isn't thinking about much more than finding a costume - a superlative and original costume - for his Halloween party when he unlocks the door, jostles the dry cleaning under his arm, and then finds the note.<p>

Parchment. Sealed with red wax. Propped up on his entry table.

Huh.

That's. . .usually his kind of thing.

Actually. He sorta was thinking some kind of literary thing with Edgar Allen Poe, but ah, no, he did that already-

Heh. This is cool. Really well done too.

He slides his finger under the seal over the triangle flap, painstakingly, enjoying the slow reveal. The parchment unfolds and the dark writing is in actual calligraphy.

_You Are Invited_

As he reads the details, his mouth drops open.

The dry cleaning clatters to the floor.

* * *

><p>He's already calling her, his heart pounding in his throat and making it almost impossible to breathe, when the knock raps sharply at his door.<p>

"Kate," he gasps, pulling it open on his guess to find he's right.

She grins languidly, wickedly, and saunters inside. Her hands come to his chest, fingers slipping under his jacket and making erotic designs. He's trembling like a teenager.

"You get the invitation?" she murmurs, lifting an eyebrow.

He sucks in a breath, hears his own wheeze, can't even care how utterly destroyed, _utterly destroyed_ he is when it comes to her.

"Castle. . ."

"How. What. How-"

He gulps hard and her hand trails down to tuck in his belt, her eyes dark on his as she comes closer. Her mouth hovers over his; he can feel her hot breath against his lips, can't feel much else.

"It's on your list, Castle."

He blinks to restore his equilibrium, but it doesn't help. He's beyond scattered; he's seriously compromised by the feel of her hand fiddling with his belt buckle and her mouth. . .

"You do remember your list?" she says throatily.

He nods automatically, then swallows again, has to clear his throat before anything will come out at all.

"I - yeah. Remember. I remember. But I didn't think you'd seen that list." He finally finds her eyes with his, regains some measure of control as he crowds into her body with a brush of his lips just past hers, skirting her jaw to her ear. "The list of all the things I want to do to you."

She huffs, but he feels the hitch in her breathing and grins darkly, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her hips sharply against his.

She gasps and he feels her grin against his cheek, her fingers sliding around his neck and curling through his hair. He loves that, the possessive touch of her hand at his nape. She angles him just right and dives into his mouth, her tongue stroking over his lips and inside.

He hums and draws her closer, slow dancing her away from the door and back towards his bedroom. She hasn't even moved in yet, but she said _yes_ in Paris and she keeps mentioning _when we get married_, and she's just so very sexy.

So very sexy.

"Castle," she murmurs into his mouth, takes a nip of his bottom lip as she walks backward along the hall, his body eagerly canting after her. "You wanna go to that party?"

"I. . .I want you." He feels her fingers tangle in his as she tugs him towards his bedroom.

"That can be arranged," she grins, her eyes feral and her body seduction.

"Yeah. That. Let's do that."

"Then we're both gonna need a mask."

A mask.

For an Eyes Wide Shut party.

Kate Beckett is gonna kill him dead.

* * *

><p>"Stop fidgeting," she tells him sharply, a hand pressed to his knee as she peers into the night through the cab window. The square of paper with the address shimmers between her fingers every time they pass a streetlight, a tantalizing glimpse of white that squeezes his insides. Castle swallows and tries to hold still, not move.<p>

His clothes feel too tight. He rubs his sweaty palm onto his pants; the fabric feels wrong, even though this is a designer suit that he's paid an indecent amount of money for.

He distracts himself by mirroring Kate, looking through his own window. The neighborhood they're in seems surprisingly quiet, a row of stately houses lining the street. A little pretentious for his taste, but that's probably the idea.

Intimidate outsiders enough so that they'll mind their own business. No questions asked.

"We're here," Kate says suddenly, just as the driver pulls up.

Castle leans into her lap, trying to peek at the house, but she gives him a look, pushes back on his shoulder and reaches for her purse.

While she pays for the ride, he lets his fingers skim the soft, dark material of the dress she's wearing. Her body instantly ripples at his touch, muscles bunching, and he can't help but wonder - not for the first time - if she's wearing anything under it. Probably not, huh?

Eyes Wide Shut party.

It's been a while since the last time he's seen the movie, but he remembers it well enough. The ritual ceremony, the circle of naked women, their masked faces touching in a parody of a kiss.

Shit. Kate.

What the hell are they doing?

"Out," she hisses, poking his side, and he automatically opens the door, slides out of the car. The cool night air hits him, a relief to his overworked senses; he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

He can do this.

It's fun, it's actually on his bucket list, and his girlfriend - his _fiancée_ - seems to be up for it. What is he so anxious about? He should be trembling with excitement right now.

"Castle?"

He jerks his head back to her, finds her slipping out of the cab, eyebrows lifted questioningly. Stepping back to her, he gives her a smile, brushing their lips together when he reaches her side. Her heels make it easy, and her fingers slide across his neck in response, send a shiver of pleasure through him.

"Come on," she says softly, eyes glittering in the darkness. She gives him one of those small, mysterious smiles, lips pressed and eyelashes fluttering, and her hand trails down to his.

She tangles their fingers, her touch just as gentle as that night, the night after their first huge fight, when she came to find him at his loft and they made up - rather spectacularly - and now, she tugs him towards the flight of stairs that leads to the massive double doors of the opulent house.

His heart pounds as he follows her.

* * *

><p>There's a butler. Of course.<p>

The man is in his fifties, Castle thinks, and respectfully nods to them, his posture dignified in his black suit.

"Good evening, sir. Madam."

"Evening," Kate offers with a smile.

Castle smiles too, so very uncomfortable that it's got to be all over his face, and then feels Kate's elbow nudging at his ribs. What-

Oh. The password.

"Idomeneo," he pronounces carefully, trying not to butcher the exotic-sounding word of Mozart's opera.

He must manage, because Kate flashes that pleased look at him, and a smile blossoms on the butler's face.

"If you will follow me," the man says, bowing slightly. "This way, please."

He leads them into a deserted corridor, lit up by authentic chandeliers; the flames dance over the light-colored walls, and Castle's seriously grateful for the strong line of Kate's arm laced around his. His knees feel like they might give out any moment.

"You got your mask?" she asks him quietly.

"Um, yeah," he answers, sliding his fingers into his inside pocket. He bought one that's rather simple, plain black, with a pained expression on it that he thought was funny at the time - not so much anymore.

He puts it on his face, has to let her go since he needs both hands. When the mask is secured, he looks over at Kate through the slits; her green eyes meet him, a shadow of hesitation - anticipation? - in them.

She looks gorgeous. Her mask is Venetian, elaborate, with ornate gold patterns curling around the eyes, blue feathers capping her forehead. The mouth is an exquisite red that contrasts with the lower half of the mask, pale white, thin lines running over it like cracks in marble.

Where did it come from? What's the story behind it? He's dying to ask, but they're almost at the door, the butler already reaching for the knob. So instead Castle catches her hand once more, her fingers slender and warm inside his, and he braces himself.

The door opens.

* * *

><p>He's so nervous it's disgusting. At any moment, she's going to dislodge his hand and wipe the sweat off her palm, and he wouldn't blame her one bit, but the second their connection is severed, he might turn around and run.<p>

Rick Castle, as a rule, has never been one to _run_.

This is the exception.

Her fingers lace through his and his chest eases, allows his brain to start observing again, filing away the details for later.

They've come into a grand ballroom - gilded mouldings, a Sistine-esque ceiling, an ornate chandelier that really puts it over the top. Five doors lead off from the main room, all of them shut, and Castle's heart pounds sluggishly in his chest, thick with a combination of strange, dark arousal and absolute, mortifying _fear._

Yes. He is afraid.

A scattering of people are dressed as they are in the room - couples or singles, elegant and sipping champagne, wearing masks, only twenty or so. He wonders if he should know them, if they are judges and politicians and CEOs he's run into; he wonders what their stories might be, how they got here, what item on their list this could possibly be for them, these masked individuals who are so at ease, so light, so clever as they chat with one another.

He can't even focus long enough on these people to make guesses as to their identities - they are just misshapen, masked forms, somewhat menacing in their air of natural and casual comfort. It's unnerving.

Kate's hand is cool in his, her body slightly ahead of his as she takes a flute of champagne from a passing tray, sips it leisurely as she watches the room. She is just as relaxed, nonchalant as the others; Castle is alone.

He lets go of her hand to take a glass himself, wondering if the unmasked wait staff will remain in the room or-

At that moment, every single one of them disappears from the ballroom, like they've vanished from the earth entirely, leaving just the well-dressed, unknown participants waiting on the edges of the dance floor.

The Mozart opera he used as their password to enter is playing overhead, he realizes, some hidden speaker delicately teasing the music along his ears, his body vibrating with the sense of quiet inevitability.

And then the music lilts and quiets, the room grows still at some subtle signal, and all five doors open.

A line of white masked women trail through the guests, the dark, heavy folds of their robes brushing the floor as they snake their way to the center of the room. A woman comes between him and Kate, and for some reason Castle's hand breaks from hers without even a touch, allowing the strange creature to pass, her rob smelling of dark incense, her hair tumbling over the hood of her cape, her feet silent.

He can't breathe until Kate's hand finds his again.

He's so caught in the silent spell that it takes him a moment to realize that a dark priest has claimed the ornate seal in the floor as his spot, his palms pressed together, his mask a smooth, flesh-colored thing with blank eyes.

Castle shifts closer to Kate as the women in their white masks slowly ring around the priest. Kate is entirely unperturbed, her fingers loose around his, her eyes revealing nothing through her mask. He can see the curve of her ear, the way her hair brushes half-back from her neck, the beautiful skin glowing pink and gold in the light. He remembers the movie, he knows how this will go, and he wants - quite suddenly - to be anywhere but here on Halloween night.

He turns to her, his fiancee, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist to gain her attention. She shifts only slight into him, questions in the glittering depths of her eyes.

"Kate," he breathes out, leaning in close to her ear. As he speaks, he feels the edge of his tongue meet the slit of the mask's mouth, a sharp line that makes his body crowd hers and press her back through the other guests, his hands at her hips in need and panic.

"Castle?" she murmurs, amusement dripping from each syllable of his name, but it's not funny. This is not funny.

"Can you - should you even be here?" he says quietly, shooting a look over his shoulder as the women close the circle around the priest. "They - have you seen the movie? Because they're going to - this is - they'll choose partners - and you're a _cop_-"

"Jeez," she says, her fingers tightening around his wrist painfully. "Say it a little louder."

"But you - I don't want you to lose your job over some stupid item on my bucket list-"

"That's what the masks are for," she murmurs, her fingers lifting to smooth the line of his shirt, straight down to his belt where she presses into his abdomen, makes the flare of arousal sing. "Don't worry about me."

A chime overhead causes the room to orient towards the priest, and Castle slowly turns as well, feels Kate at his side with her hand dropping away from his waist, dread filling his chest.

The women in the circle seem to sway to some unheard rhythm, and their hands lift, touching each others' palm to palm, and while Castle always enjoys a bit of theatre, the flourish, his hands are in tight fists at his sides and his eyes are burning, and he doesn't even know _why; _this should be a dream come true but it's a _nightmare_, it's a nightmare, and he doesn't-

The robes drop.

He startles back, but they're still dressed - all of the women are dressed, scantily, yes, but nothing Beckett herself wouldn't wear - hasn't worn, in the dark of his own bedroom, black silk and close to lingerie but still classy; it's all classy; it's all so very well done, but that doesn't calm him down at all, it only reinforces the idea that they are _doing this_-

The opera music swells at just that moment, strident, commanding, and the women all turn to each other in pairs, touching mask to mask, a kiss of white silk lips that makes Castle's stomach roll and pitch, his hand seek blindly for Kate's.

To the soundtrack of the triumphant, eerie music, the women pivot slowly outward, facing the guests, dark and glittering eyes behind those white masks, and they step forward on soft, felt-lined feet, trailing a seductive web through the crowd.

He stiffens and feels Kate's fingers tapping a tattoo against the back of his hand, slow and steady, her breathing even, her body strong. Not even a moment's hesitation.

The women touch, slide fingers along arms, shoulders, the brush of a palm, a thigh, selecting their choices for the evening, all silent, no sound from behind those deadly white masks.

A few women circle them, eyes meeting briefly, hungrily, lazily, and Castle can't help shifting closer to Kate, in protection or for protection, he doesn't even know, until a pair of women in black silk and white masks stop before them, hands reaching like mirroring twins, and before the woman at his side can even touch his elbow, Kate is already being led away from him.

"No," he grunts and snags her hand back, tight, sweaty, gripping so hard he can feel her bones crunch.

She flickers a look back to him, something in those nearly-hidden eyes he can't possibly fathom, but wants to label arousal, but for _who?_ and that is not acceptable, this whole thing is not right, he won't - can't - she's going to be his _wife._

His.

And he her husband.

Hers.

"No," he says again, and avoids the woman still silent before him even as he sees others being led away to those tantalizingly open doors. He draws closer to Kate. "Not - I don't want to do this."

"Are you sure?" she murmurs, her masked face even with his in those killer shoes. "Castle. I don't think I can get us invited back-"

"No. We're not doing this. I don't want them, this - I want you," he grunts. "I just want you."

He can't see her mouth, has no idea what's behind that mask, but a little, quiet sound comes from her, something he can't identify, something that drifts over him and settles, makes his heart calm.

"Okay, Rick," she murmurs, and then reaches for her mask and slides it away.

He gasps and clutches at her arm to stop her - her anonymity, the mask - but she shakes her hair out and it tumbles around her shoulders and she's grinning at him, amused and a little _sheepish_ but a lot aroused as well, and he can't-

The women in white masks remove theirs, a slow production, but the guests still remaining in the room - he sees now - are following Kate's lead, and his heart is jack-rabbitting, his pulse roaring, as Kate lifts her hands and tucks her fingers under the band of his mask and slides it off.

He stares down at her, the twitching lips and the dark, beautiful line of her throat.

"Mm, then let's just have a Halloween party," she murmurs, an eyebrow lifting.

He turns slowly to the rest of the room and his jaw drops.

Everyone is here.

* * *

><p>Kate gets a chance to fist bump Esposito and Ryan as one of the students from Martha's school - sans white mask - leads them through the doorway into the other room. It's a mirror to the one they've just left behind, but the place is decorated for Halloween, includes a long bar and a table of finger foods, and Martha is holding court.<p>

Castle is still dumbstruck at her side.

Esposito is cackling. "Man, you shoulda seen your face. Well, actually, I _wish_ I coulda seen your face. Just the deer in the headlights look in your eyes was good enough, but bro-"

Kate presses her lips together and slides her arm through Castle's, tugging his unresistant body towards the bar. "Need a drink, Castle?"

Ryan is shaking his head. "Really, Castle? An Eyes Wide Shut party? Who _does_ that?"

"Drink," Kate nudges, narrowing her eyes at the boys to shoo them away.

Castle grunts and clears his throat. "All that - those were - who _are_ these people?"

"Students from my school," his mother crows, the crowd parting before her like a wave. "Darling, wasn't it spectacular? Just - truly - a phenomenal idea, Kate."

"Thank you," she demures. "Martha, I couldn't have done it without you." His mother envelopes her in an embrace, and Kate grins over the woman's shoulder at Castle as he still stands there, almost swaying with his disbelief.

"So the - all those women in the robes-"

"Actresses. The wait staff as well." Martha lowers her voice and stage whispers. "We didn't even have to pay them, Richard. It's mighty low-budget, but it worked."

"It definitely worked," he says and then casts another _help me_ look to Kate.

"Okay, let's get you a drink," she murmurs, winking at his mother and leading Castle off.

He's practically trembling, and he clutches at her hand over the crook of his elbow. "Is this because I haven't gotten you an engagement ring?" he whispers.

Kate laughs and squeezes his arm, leans in to kiss the worried look on his face. "No, Rick. It's because you have an Eyes Wide Shut party on your list, and there's no way in hell I'm letting some masked woman lead you off anywhere." She grins a little wider. "Or me, for that matter."

"This _is_ because I haven't gotten you a ring," he mutters.

She hums and leans up to the bar, lifting a finger for the bartender's attention but she already has it. "Scotch on the rocks. And a glass of white."

Castle shivers again, maybe because of his close call, and she slides her hand down the inside of his arm, slips her fingers between his. He shifts as the wine is placed before her; she takes it and sips coolly at her drink, watches Castle's coloring come back slowly, his eyes go from hunted to amused.

"You really went all out for this. You're a devious woman, Kate Beckett."

She smiles at him, the flush of victory, pride, something in her chest as she regards him. Oh, maybe it's love.

"Well, you've been warned now."

"Indeed I have." He takes the Scotch as it's offered and downs the whole thing in one long gulp, wincing at the burn, and she laughs.

"Poor thing. Was it that bad? I thought an Eyes Wide Shut party was something you've always wanted to do."

"It's possible I was hasty. Also, I might've been drunk when I made that list. And recently single."

_And hurting._ It goes unsaid, but he said it was right after the movie came out, and that was fresh from his second divorce.

She bites the inside of her lip, watches him from under heavy lids. Pretty ridiculous how she loves him, how even an admission like that only makes him _sweet_ and not just pathetic.

Well, okay, some pathetic in there as well. But it's an attractive pathetic.

He sighs loudly and leans in to brush a kiss over her mouth, soft, a little hesitant, like she's some new breed he's never encountered before.

She likes that too.

"So what was the plan here?" he murmurs, wriggling his eyebrow as he looks over the party.

"If you'd let the girl take you," she starts-

"Ohhh, so this was a test. I get it."

Kate laughs at that, shaking her head and squeezing his fingers with hers to get his attention. "No, Castle. I don't need to test you. I already know I got you."

He lets out a little breath, gives her a grin. "You got me."

"If you had let the girl take you through the door," she says. "You'd had been let in on the surprise by everyone already over here. We were last to be picked, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Huh." His shoulders shrug under his suit jacket and she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand, waits him out. Castle finally turns to her with a frown. "Did you really think I'd let some woman lead me off? I mean-"

She smirks back at him, nudges her hip into his. "No, actually. I thought you'd follow me, rather eagerly, Castle - want to join in. And _then_, we'd get you as you came through the door."

He narrows his eyes at her, suddenly crowds her up against the bar, his body burning her skin through the material of her dress, his hands on her waist.

"You're even more misguided if you'd think I'd let someone lead _you_ away, even if I could follow."

She hitches in a breath, feels her chest brush his, the feral look in his eyes arresting.

He leans in, his mouth at her ear, takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites on a growl. Her eyes slip shut, her hands gripping him.

"Because, Kate?"

She makes some noise of assent, interrogation, something, because his amusement ripples through his body and into hers.

"You're going to be my wife. Never. Never would I let anyone else come between us."

* * *

><p><em>48. Eyes Wide Shut Party<em>


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